


All Was Golden In The Sky; All Was Golden When The Day Met The Night

by Bixiayu



Series: The Sun And The Moon [2]
Category: Captain America - All Media Types, Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alcoholic Tony Stark, Alternate Universe - College/University, Angst, Artist Steve Rogers, Cancer, Childhood Sexual Abuse, Divorce, Enemies to Friends, F/M, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Insecure Wade Wilson, Lung Cancer, M/M, Married Tony and Steve, Multi, Past Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Past Child Abuse, Past Sexual Abuse, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Sexual Assault, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, Suicidal Thoughts, Superfamily (Marvel), Superhusbands (Marvel), Terminal Illness, Tony Angst, Tony Stark Has Issues, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Tony speaks Bulgarian, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Wade Wilson Needs A Hug
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-31
Updated: 2019-08-10
Packaged: 2019-12-27 04:11:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 4
Words: 31,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18296585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bixiayu/pseuds/Bixiayu
Summary: [ Re-Write of "When The Day met the night" ]It had been said that luck never truly gives, it only lends. With that in mind, Peter guessed that for the past 17 years, he was still... waiting. He was waiting for the one moment in his life to finally go right. No more cancer treatments, no more nightmares, no more pain.He knew he didn't have much longer left to live.After all, the five-year survival rate for a stage four lung cancer patient was less than ten percent.Tony thinks that his son will be in that ten percent. And as for his other father, Steve, Peter couldn't really tell. It was hard getting the opinion of someone who was rarely around anymore.This had been his life for the past few months. His parents would argue, one would leave, and then the other would drink. He knew it wasn't their fault though. They'd given everything they had to try to give Peter a good life.They were exhausted.This was the beginning of his end.That was, until, Peter met someone who helped him realize that it didn't have to end like this. And hopefully, with his new luck, good or bad, this might just change his life for the better.Or worse.





	1. I Always Wanna Die (Sometimes)

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [When The Day Met The Night](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9341858) by [Bixiayu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bixiayu/pseuds/Bixiayu). 



> The song Peter is playing on his piano is: Une Barque Sur L'Ocean by Andre Laplante :)

Peter’s fingertips danced on the cold white piano keys. The melodic tone created soft waves that flew throughout the spacious living room. With ease, he swayed his body left and right in harmony with the notes changing in volume. When the music got louder, his body got farther away from the piano. When he got quieter, he leaned in taking light breaths, tapping each key with years acquired grace.

This was something he did often. Perhaps it was to forget, to pass time, or to make the pain go away. Nonetheless, as soon as he began to play, his mind was caught in a hypnotic trance. It was as if nothing else in the world mattered. His eyes would flutter shut and somehow, it made everything feel alright.

 

“You’re getting better every day.”

 

The music came to a halt. Peter looked behind his shoulder to see his father leaning on the taupe colored love seat. In one hand he had a black mug and in the other, he had a glass filled halfway with a dark red liquid. He let out a small, tired smile.

 

“I… I didn’t mean to wake you.” Peter apologized.

 

Tony brushed it off, walking closer to his son. “You didn’t, Kid. I’ve…  been awake for a while.”

 

Peter nodded, making room for him on the leather piano bench. When his dad sat next to him, the boy felt his warmth. It was comforting. His father then held out the mug for him to take. “Drink it,” He said. “It’ll help you.”

 

Peter took the warm mug and looked solemnly into it; It was tea, Elecampane tea. He hated the taste. His dad had been giving it to him for the past three years. It was to help him breathe easier by soothing the inflammation in his lungs.

 

Well, lung.

 

“I know you don’t like this.” Tony hesitated. “But I added some honey.”

 

Peter sighed, keeping his head down. He brought the cup up to his lips, feeling the warmth the tea gave off. He paused before setting it on the piano.

 

“I can’t do this anymore.”

 

“Peter, please drink it. It _will_ make you feel better.”

 

“There’s… no point, Dad.” Peter kept his head down, afraid to meet his father’s eyes. “I’m probably going to be dead in less than a-”

 

“ _Drink_ the tea.”

 

Peter looked up to find his father staring down at him, frowning. Begrudgingly, he got the cup and took a few sips of the tea. It was like a nausea-inducing liquid that slithered down his throat. It took every fiber he had to keep it from coming back up. After drinking as much as he could, he placed it on top of the piano.

 

“I’m doing this for you, you know that right? You mean the world to me.” Tony held the tube below the slider of Peter’s nasal cannula with his index finger and his thumb. He gazed sadly, rotating it. “It is important to me that you know that.”

 

“You’re my everything.”

 

Tony’s hand was met with his son’s cold ones. Peter looked up and gave a weak, but reassuring smile.

 

“I know, Dad.” He said. “You’re all I have.”

 

There was a pregnant pause before Tony took the opportunity to turn over one of Peter’s hands. Carefully, Tony pulled up his son’s sleeve to see the aged scars slashed violently across his wrists.

 

Peter removed his hand from his father’s grasp. He pulled his sleeves over both of his hands and looked away, a bit ashamed.

 

“Look at me.”

 

“Kiddo, look at me.”

 

Peter did as he was told. His eyes were heavy.

 

“I’m not going to be the one to bury you,” Tony spoke. “Not today, not tomorrow, not next week, not in the next six months, alright? You still have the entire world to see.”

 

“Right,” Peter nodded, his voice quiet. “You’re right, Dad.”

 

“I know I am,” He sipped his wine. “How long have you been down here?”

 

Peter took a deep breath in. “Only... a couple of hours.”

 

“How much sleep did you get?”

 

“Just…” Peter trailed off. He took a long sip of his tea. “... a few hours.”

 

Tony finished his drink with a large gulp. He looked away from Peter and locked his gaze onto a painting hanging in front of them instead. “Did… did Steve and I wake you up?”

 

Peter looked away too, he stared at his hands. “No… no…  of course not.” he played with the sleeves of his sweater for a long while. “I just… I mean… a little… But I was… I was already kinda awake so… it wasn’t… I wasn’t… I didn’t really hear… anything…”

 

“I’m sorry you had to hear us argue like that,” Tony said reaching for his glass, only to find it empty.

 

“It’s okay.”

 

“No, it’s not okay.”

 

As Peter stared at Tony’s empty glass, there was another long pause. “Did... Pa leave again?”

 

Tony toyed around with the glass. When the last drop of wine spilled on his finger, it took every ounce of self-control not to bring it to his lips. He hurried to wipe it on his pants. “Yeah… yeah, he did.” He spoke.

 

“But that isn’t important right now. Rogers... is the _least_ of our worries.” He turned towards Peter and gave an exhausted smile. “Anyways, we’ve got your appointment today and I need to help you get ready.”

 

“No, No it’s okay, you don’t-”

 

“C’mon kiddo,” Tony stood up, pulling Peter off the bench. “Breakfast time.”

 

Peter grabbed the handle for his oxygen tank and followed closely behind his dad. Dread crept up behind him when he thought of what’s to come. Meal times were often the worst part of his day. Ever since he got cancer when he was seven, everything became _harder_. Talking, walking, sleeping, breathing, and even eating. Somedays, he felt too sick to. On other days, he didn’t feel hungry. The heavy amount of medication he was on swallowed his appetite.

 

He took his seat at the glass dining room table putting his oxygen tank under the table. “Dad… I’m not feeling that hungry… can I please skip-”

 

A simple _‘No’_ was all Peter heard from the kitchen.

 

He looked down at the accents on his placemat. It was pointless to ask anyway. He _had_ to eat. If he couldn’t do it for himself, he knew he should at _least_ try to do it for his parents. They got upset when he didn’t eat and Peter didn’t like it when they weren't happy.

 

Especially Tony.

 

Peter looked up when he saw the glass of water placed in front of him. Next to it seemed like an endless array of pill bottles.

 

“Your breakfast will be ready in a few, alright kiddo?” Tony said. “Try to eat as much as you can.”

 

“Okay.”

 

Peter reached over and opened each of the bottles one after the other. He had to take seven pills four times a day. Some were for managing the cancer itself, others were for the pain, and a few were supplements to help improve his lung function. It was exhausting and a bit tedious to remember sometimes, but it was the cost of staying alive.

 

He gulped them down, trying not to choke. He thought that after years of taking them every single day, he would be used to the feeling by now.

 

Tony placed Peter’s breakfast on the table. “Яжте,” He said. “Моля те.”

 

Peter picked up his fork, hoping for the best. “Добре, татко.”

 

His father took a seat across from him sipping on another glass of wine. This time, the glass was much bigger than before. Peter was a bit worried, but he didn’t want to say anything. Most adults drink alcohol and Tony, of course, was a responsible one at that. The boy was confident his father knew exactly what he was doing.

 

Although, it was a bit odd because he had never seen Tony drink until about three months ago. It was around they found out the cancer had spread to his spine.

 

Peter played around with the food on his plate. “Are you… going to eat anything?”

 

“Why?”

 

“I was just… wondering…” He replied. “I haven’t really seen you eat… in a while. I was getting a little… uhm… worried.”

 

Tony stared at the inside of the glass displeased. He shot out of his seat before giving Peter a reassuring smile, “Don’t worry about me, Kid. I’m fine.”

 

“I always am.”

 

“Anyway, You’re almost halfway done. Finish up, we don’t want to be late.”

 

Peter nodded, putting a small piece of fruit into his mouth. He was proud that he was managing to eat this much. Hopefully, today wouldn’t be too bad after all.

 

“I stopped by E.S.U. and spoke with a few of the administrative officers earlier this week,” Tony said as he poured himself another glass. “They’re more than happy to have you as a freshman for the winter semester.”

 

Peter’s eyes went wide. “You… you what…?” He felt his heart pound hammers in his chest and his hands begin to shake. He accidentally dropped his fork on his plate.

 

“Please tell me you’re joking… you can’t… no… you’re not serious.”

 

“Your education has never been and will never be a joke to me, Peter. You know this.”

 

“I don’t… want this.” Peter stared down at his trembling hands. “I don’t want to go. I just… I just want to take it easy for a little while…”

 

Tony scoffed, “You can take it easy _after_ you get your degree.”

 

“But... I’m only seventeen…”

 

He had been homeschooled all his life so it was easy for him to go at his own pace and finish high school early. That certainly didn’t mean he was ready for college though. It was clear that as the years went on, his health rapidly got worse. Instead of having his head buried in a book during the last few months, or years of his life, he would rather be doing something else, _anything_ else.

 

“Your age means nothing.”

 

Peter turned away, “I don’t need a degree, Dad.”

 

“I’m not even going to live long enough to--”

 

“ _Enough_.” Tony silenced him. “We’re not having this conversation again.”

 

“You _are_ going to college and you _will_ get a degree so you can do something with your life when you get older. Do you understand me?”

 

Peter bit his bottom lip to keep himself from saying something that would make his father even more upset. “It’s like I don’t have a choice.” He let out.

 

“You don’t.”

 

Peter looked away, keeping himself silent. There was a long silence between them.

 

Sighing, Tony closed his eyes and put his hands on the counter. He took a deep breath in, staring down at the kitchen floor. “Look, only I know what’s best for you, Kid. I’m doing this for you. I need you to understand that.”

 

“But why can’t I just choose?”

 

“Because you can’t make decisions for yourself!”

 

Tony stared at his son, wide-eyed. He saw a hint of fear in the large brown ones staring back at him. “Look," He began, "Kid, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to yell at you."

 

"I know you, Peter, Better than you know yourself. I know you can't make the right decisions."

 

"That's why I'm here."

 

"You end up thanking me one day.” He continued as he took small sips his wine. “When you’re educated, people can’t take advantage of you.”

 

“Again,” Peter muttered.

 

There was a long, tense pause before Tony spoke again. This time, his voice was cold and disconnected. “Finish your food.”

 

Peter picked his fork and put the last bite into his mouth chewing as quickly as possible. When he finished, he got up and made his way towards the kitchen. His plate was in one hand and the handle for his oxygen tank was in the other.

 

He handed it to his dad, “I’m finished.”

 

Tony looked down at him with soft eyes, “Kid.” His voice was a weak whisper. “You need to remember that everything I do for you is for your own good.”

 

“I would never _ever_ do anything to hurt you.”

 

Peter turned away, keeping his gaze at the staircase. “I’m going to get ready.” He said as he walked away; His little oxygen tank was still following behind him.

 

The fear from the dining room table was still lingering in his blood. He didn’t want to be _around_ other people, nor did he want to _talk_ to other people. For him, there was no college, there was no future, there was no life. He knew his end was coming soon. At this point, it was the only thing he knew that could truly bring him happiness. Living was exhausting and painful. Death was easy, peaceful, and quiet.

 

Why couldn’t he fall asleep and never wake back up?

 

When he reached the bottom of the marble staircase, he looked up and let out a deep sigh. The steps were easy to climb down but extremely difficult to climb up sometimes. Bracing himself, he exhaled deeply before taking a big breath in. He pushed the handle strap of his oxygen concentrator down and slung one of his straps over his shoulder.

 

With a shaky hand, he held onto the wooden railing. Carefully, he climbed up the steps making sure his breathing was still steady. Everything went fairly well until he reached halfway. His small body began to desperately gasp for air. He rested one of his hands on the wall to keep his balance as he hunched over, wheezing. Each breath he took got shallower than the last. His cancer was starving his lung for the oxygen it needed. As time went on, his chest became tighter and tighter. He was suffocating.

 

“Kid?” Tony called.

 

“Kid.”

 

“Peter…hey hey hey… steady…”

 

He felt his father’s arms wrap around him and pull him close. Shaking his head, he tried to get away, “No… I’m fine… don’t-”

 

“Don’t talk, save your breath.” Tony guided Peter’s body to sit on one of the steps, “Stop fighting me. I’m trying to help you, let me help you.”

 

He gasped, his eyes watering. “I… c-can’t… I c-can’t…”

 

“I know, Kid, sit. Focus on my voice. In and out, remember?” His father’s hands were like blankets wrapped around his body. They held him loosely but securely. “Lean forward, head down.”

 

Peter did as he was told. He rested his elbows on his knees and rested his head in his hands.  His breathing started to slow down and his the claws gripping his chest started to loosen.

 

“Steady deep breaths kid,” Tony said, stroking Peter’s backside.

 

“ _Steady_.”

 

He nodded, breathing in for two counts and then breathing out for two more. He repeated that action over and over again until he was no longer struggling. The air was going in and was going out at the same rate. Perfectly balanced.

 

“You’re okay now.”

 

“Yeah… yes…yes…” Peter nodded before He removed his face from his hands. This was something that happened often, unfortunately. It never used to be this bad though. In the past, he could go up the stairs and be a little out of breath, but it was nothing he couldn’t handle. It was like that until he got pneumonia about a month ago. He was in the ICU for a few weeks as the disease rapidly devoured the only functioning part of his lung.

 

It took most people about a week to fully recover.

 

Lucky them.

 

To this day, Peter was _still_ trying to recover.

 

Tony brushed his son’s dark brown hair away from his eyes, “You’re okay, kid. You’re alright.”

 

“Let’s get upstairs?”

 

“Okay,” Peter stood up slowly using the railing and his father for support. One by one, they walked up the rest of the stairs. When they reached the top, Peter took his concentrator off of his shoulder. It was heavy and he didn’t want his back to hurt more than it already did. It was exhausting to drag it around everywhere, but he guessed it was the price of staying alive.

 

Tony walked beside him as they went down the long hallway on the way to Peter’s room.

 

“You alright?”

 

“I’m fine.” Peter sniffled.

 

When he entered his room, he went straight to his bathroom. Every morning, he had to replace his nasal cannula. It was tedious and sometimes easy to forget, but he guessed it was the price of staying alive. He got on his knees and opened the white cabinet under his sink. He pulled out the navy blue hospital bag and unzipped it. Inside, he was greeted to dozens of spare cannulas wrapped in individual plastic bags.

 

He picked one and placed it on his sink. He zipped the bag up and put it back where he found it. Breathing in deeply, he zipped open the bag that had his concentrator and turned it off. This part of his day was a race against time. Usually, he could last about fifteen minutes without the extra oxygen. But now, thanks to the pneumonia, five minutes would be considered lucky.

 

Once he took off his cannula he unplugged it from the concentrator, tossing it into the trash. Then, he got the new cannula and plugged it in, turning on the concentrator. He put the prongs into his nostrils and put tubes behind his ears. As he took a deep breath, he felt the familiar flow of air through his nostrils.

 

He gripped the side of the sink to pull himself up. With ease, he moved the slider down towards the middle of his chest. He liked his cannula to be a little looser than normal. Standing up, he looked at his reflection and took another deep breath in and out. He examined himself in the mirror. The longer he stared, the more his self-esteem dropped. He never remembered himself looking _this_ bad.

 

His sickness had muted the little color he had. Due to him being so pale, it made the birthmarks scattered across his face even more obvious. Especially the ones under his left eyebrow, under his right eye, and the two on the left and right corners of his top lip. He had shallow bags under his eyes that he knew with time would only get worse. He looked towards his shoulder and saw his hollow collar bone poking out. For the past five years, he had been stuck gaining and losing the same seven pounds.

 

Currently, he was about twenty pounds underweight because it was too challenging to eat. Anytime he did manage to put on a few pounds, he would find a way to get sick and the weight would fall off, _again_. Since he got the diagnosis, It was difficult to look in the mirror and like what he saw.

 

Shaking his head, he stepped out of the bathroom. It didn’t matter what he thought of himself. Nothing mattered anymore. 

 

“Dad?” He scanned his room.

 

“I _seriously_ need to get you some new clothes, Kiddo.” He heard Tony murmur from his closet. Peter could visualize his father looking at one of his hoodies and shaking his head disapprovingly. Preparing for the worst, Peter slowly moved towards the voice. He stood right outside of his closet, gazing in. He saw his dad with some clothes folded over his arm as he stared at a shelf with a seemingly endless supply of clothes.

 

“You don’t need to get me any more clothes, Dad.” Peter stepped into his closet. “I have enough.”

 

“When was the last time I got you something?”

 

“Last week.”

 

“Really?” He tilted his head a bit, shifting his eyes to another rack of clothes, “It feels much longer than that.”

 

When Peter took a closer look at the clothes on his father’s arm, he ran his hand through his hair. “You don’t… you don’t have to do that, dad.”

 

“It’s fine, Peter.”

 

“I can pick my own clothes.”

 

“ _Peter_ ,” His voice dropped, “I said it is fine.”

 

The boy dropped his gaze to his feet as he bit his tongue. “Okay, Dad.” He whispered, turning away. He sat on his unmade bed with his legs crossed and a large pillow hugged tightly to his chest. It was the one he used to help him fall asleep when the pain in his back wouldn’t allow him too.

 

To distract himself, he stared at the three paintings on his bedroom walls. The first one had the design of a sunset. The deep purple and black sky was blended beautifully behind a bright yellow sun glimmering over an ocean. The tiny white stars scattered across the sky reminded Peter of polka dots.

 

That one was Steve’s favorite.

 

The next one was a rainforest. The big bright green leaves draped over the long, bold tree trunks. Tri-colored flowers were evenly scattered across the horizon adding a tiny bit of color to the tremendous sea of green. Their petals extended outwards and their ends curled in to reveal their thick, brown stamens. Some of the leaves and the petals had a few pinches of pollen sprinkled on them; It was like a bright powder that fell directly from the sun.

 

That one was Peter’s favorite.

 

For the last painting, Peter frowned. It was a simple sketch of a sun and a moon entangled in each other's embrace. Steve and him were thinking of painting it, but their plans fell through. It was around the time his lung collapsed in his sleep and he spent two months in the hospital. After that, his health continued in a downward spiral and they never got the chance to continue.

 

Peter really wanted to finish that painting before it was too late.

 

“Did you hear a word I just said?”

 

He snapped his head towards his dad, “No… uh… no.” He blurted. “I’m sorry, I-”

 

Tony brushed him off, “I’m getting you new coats, I don’t like the ones in your closet.”

 

“I haven’t even worn most of the ones in my closet.”

 

His father placed the stack of clothes neatly on his bed, “Here.” He said, “Get dressed.”

 

Peter stared down at his clothes, barely moving an inch.

 

Tony rolled his eyes, sitting down next to him. He wrapped his arm around him and pulled him close. “You’re so dramatic sometimes, Kid.” He sighed. “Fine, how about this? You can pick what shoes you’ll wear, okay?”

 

Peter turned his head away, “Some kids my age get to choose what they wear.”

 

Tony furrowed his eyebrows. “Some kids your age don’t have parents that care about them the way I care about you.”

 

He met his father’s eyes, shaking his head. “I… I… I didn’t mean it like that.”

 

“I know, Kid,” Tony cupped Peter’s face in both of his warm hands. His dark brown eyes were as bright as a thousand suns when he stared into his son’s. His smile, although small, was overflowing with love.

 

“You’re my everything, Peter. I would give you…  the sun and the moon if I could.” He laid gentle and sweet kisses all over his son’s forehead. “Моето красиво момче...”

 

“Моето красиво момче...” He repeated over and over again.

 

“Знам,” Peter whispered into Tony’s chest. “I know.” These moments helped fill Peter’s life a little bit of joy. He had a loving parent, _two_ loving parents, that cared deeply about him. Tony was right, some kids weren’t as lucky as he was. He should be grateful that his father is here for him. He had someone who made sure he was well fed, had the proper clothes, and tried his best to keep him healthy.

 

After everything they had been through, Tony never left his side. Peter knew that he couldn’t count on anyone else. His parents, especially Tony, would be the only people who truly cared about him in a way that no one else would.

 

“I’ll wait outside, Kid,” Tony spoke, lifting himself up. He walked towards the door. “Let me know when you’re done.”

 

Peter nodded as he watched his father stepped behind the door closing it shut behind him. He began peeling his sweater off his body as he felt the slight chill of his room embrace his skin. Keeping his eyes on his ceiling, he put on the navy blue long-sleeved shirt Tony picked out for him. Whenever Peter got dressed, he tried his best not to look at his body. It was a mess of deep white scars, birthmarks, and protruding bones.  He had discolored patches of skin on his chest due to the countless radiation treatments. Some were bigger than others.

 

Then, he carefully bent down minding the pain in his lower back as he took off his sweatpants. He tossed them lazily on his bed. Standing up, he put on his jeans.

 

There were no words to describe how much he _hated_ his outfit. It wasn’t the style of the clothes, it was how they fit. They were snug, hugging his tiny frame perfectly. If Peter had his way, he would still have on his sweatpants and an oversized jacket. He looked down in disgust at the sleeves of his shirt outlining the pathetic sticks he called arms.

 

He didn’t hesitate to throw on his massive jacket from before. The nervousness he had before started to slip away when all he saw was his hand engulfed by the dark grey fabric. Standing up, he walked over to his closet. He put on his socks and his sneakers. It was simple and easy. Nothing fancy. The last thing he wanted was to draw unwanted attention to himself.

 

Peter swung open his bedroom door and saw Tony leaning on the beige wall, scrolling through his phone. “I finished.” He mumbled, stepping out. His father looked up with a small glimmer of light in his eyes before it quickly faded out. He frowned, stepping closer.

 

“Сменете обувките си.”

 

“Wait, what?” Peter felt the tiny amount of color drain from his face, “But… you… you said I could at least pick my shoes.”

 

Tony slid his phone into his back pocket as he let out an exaggerated sigh. “I know what I said but now I’m changing my mind...” He put his hands on Peter’s shoulders and turned him back into his room.

 

“Sit,” Tony commanded, motioning to the bed.

 

Peter frowned, but ultimately did what he was told. He took off his shoes, trying to see the best of this situation. His father wasn’t doing this to be _mean_ . He was doing this because he really _really_ cared about him. He knew that some kids didn’t have someone who loved them enough to pick their clothes out for them. Maybe he couldn’t pick his shoes, but it didn’t even matter that much. Only Tony knew what was best for him so if he wanted him to change his shoes, it was for the best.

 

Tony came out of the closet with a pair of black boots, he handed them to his son. “Here,” He said. “These will keep your feet warm.”

 

Peter put them on silently. Tying his laces, he realized that Tony as right, as always, they were very warm. Grabbing the handle of his oxygen tank, he stood up. “Am I ready?” He asked.

 

“You are.” Tony smiled, “And you look great by the way.”

 

He wished he could believe that. “Thanks, Dad.”

 

Together, they left Peter’s room. They went down the steps with ease and into the foyer of the mansion. Peter hoped that his check up would be quick and easy. He didn’t enjoy going to the hospital every month.

 

He hated them.

 

As soon as he stepped outside he let out a breathless gasp as the icy air shot pain through his chest. Whenever the weather was on the colder side, it made the scar tissue in his lung hurt. He tried his best to ignore the pain. Being mindful of his tank going down the steps, he walked towards Tony’s silver car.

 

“Kid,” He heard behind him.

 

“I almost forgot your hat.”

 

Peter looked up the marble steps and laid his eyes on Tony holding a black beanie. When he reached up to get the hat, Tony forcefully moved his hands away. “I got it, Peter.” He said, his voice strong.

 

His heavy brown eyes dropped to the ground as he stared silently at un-bloomed flowers sitting on top of a bush. Tony pushed some of Peter’s hair behind his ears and some towards the back of his head. Easily, the hat slid on covering over his ears. Tony placed two fingers under Peter’s chin and lifted his head so they faced each other. He gave him a warm smile as he adjusted the beanie, tucking away all the stray hairs back inside his hat.

 

“You’re okay,” Tony said quietly.

 

“I’m okay.”

 

As Peter climbed into the front seat he lowered the handle of his tank and pulled it into the car. It took nearly all of his strength to do so. His other tank was much lighter and a lot smaller making it easier to manage. Unfortunately, with his new tank, his biggest concerns were not tripping over it and maneuvering it in such a way that he didn’t bump any furniture.

 

He crossed his arms over his chest and retracted his body into the furthest corner of his seat. He shut his eyes as he took labored breaths in and out. It was much colder inside of Tony’s car than it was outside.

 

“Kid, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I didn’t heat up the car before we left, we can go back inside-“

 

“N-No, Dad.” Peter shivered, “It’s alright, let’s just go.”

 

Heavy eyes darted towards Peter’s before they went to the steering wheel. “Alright.” He said. “Don’t worry Kid, you’ll warm up soon.”

 

“Hopefully.”

 

With Peter’s last words, they backed out of the driveway and sped down the road. The boy rested his head on the window and stared at the blur of green trees. There wasn’t much of anything but trees where he lived. It was in a secluded area near Manhattan.

 

They lived in a glorious white mansion that seemed to stretch into the clouds. Dozens of windows were scattered on the face and on the back but most of the time they were covered by the long black curtains from inside.

 

With everything that had been going on, that was probably a good thing.

 

There was an ash grey driveway that stretched across the front of the house. To the left and the right were dark green patches of grass. Day by day their color faded to what it is now.

 

They used to be much brighter.

 

It wasn’t too bad though, there were a few rose bushes that added some color to the dull scheme.

 

“Y’know what I was thinking, Kid?” Tony had one hand on the steering wheel and the other was tinkering with the car controls. “Maybe your major at ESU could be Biochemistry. I know you like that, right? I know you get your passion for science from your old man.”

 

“Yep,” Peter mumbled quietly, they were at a red light. His gaze was focused on the young woman walking her dog.

 

“Which one do you prefer more, Kid? Biology or chemistry? If anything, I think I’m more of a chemistry person. Biology is great and all, but there’s not as much math as I would like there to be. It’s mostly memorization when you think about it. Chemistry, on the other hand, has a lot of math. Biology is… well… the science of life… and life is a bit unpredictable. Don’t you think?”

 

“Mhm.”

 

“I hope you’ll take advantage of E.S.U’s science program. Maybe you’ll conduct your own independent research towards the end of your fourth year? I know I _know_ it is not for a few years, but it’s never too early to start thinking about it. I’m thinking that maybe you could do something about protein synthesis? That seems interesting, right?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Or, you could focus on mapping out the entire human genome. I remember doing that when I was in college. But don’t worry, Kid. It is very easy, I had it done in about thirty minutes.”

 

Peter smiled as he saw the blonde dog wave its tail happily. “Sure.”

 

“I spoke to one of your counselors.” Tony continued. He accelerated gently and made a smooth right. “We’re thinking that you could add a few more classes to your schedule this year. They will prep you for your sophomore year of college.”

 

“ I’ve decided that you are going to double major in Biochemistry and mechanical engineering. I know you’ll be a _bit_ nervous and you might feel overwhelmed, but there’s no need. You’ll be fine. You’re a smart kid, you can handle it. That sounds like a good idea right, kiddo?”

 

“Mhm.”

 

“Are you warm enou-?”

 

“Can we please get a puppy?”

 

Tony whipped his head towards Peter, eyes wide with a growing smile on his face. “A… a what? Did… did you just ask me for a … a _dog_?”

 

Brown eyes looked up, he wasn’t smiling. “Yeah… yes.”

 

Within a split second of Peter’s answer, Tony burst out laughing. His face turned red and he threw his head back snapping his eyes shut. Thankfully, they were at another red light.

 

Peter looked down at his hands with his shoulders slumped. He tried to hide the frown on his face. It was worth a shot to ask. Ever since he could remember, he had always wanted a dog. Any breed would be nice. He wanted to have someone besides his parents to keep him company once in a while.

 

Tony wiped the single tear coming from his left eye. “That was a nice one.” He let out a few more chuckles as he tried to steady his breathing. “Thanks, Kid. I really needed that laugh.”

 

“Yeah,” Peter murmured, “No problem, Dad.”

 

“Wait,” Tony turned towards him; He was no longer smiling. “Are you serious?”

 

“Y-”

 

“I feel like you’re _actually_ being serious.”

 

“I-”

 

Tony turned away to face the road. With ease, he put on a black pair of sunshades hanging from the top dashboard. “We don’t have time for a dog, Kid. You know that.”

 

“But… I can try to take care of it, Dad!” Peter said, “Please, just give me a chance. I’ll do anything yo-”

 

Tony sighed, “ _We_ don’t have time for a dog, Kid.”

 

“And besides, how can you take care of a dog when you can’t even take care of yourself?”

 

**. . .**

 

“Hold your breath, sweetheart.”

 

Peter nodded.

 

“… and breathe out.”

 

He did as he was told. He kept his eyes focused on the name tag of the nurse sitting down in front of him.

 

**MAY PARKER**

 

He was currently in one of the exam rooms at the hospital. There were baby blue walls with a few bright colored paintings. Two light grey seats were placed next to the nurse’s desk; Tony sat in one while the other remained empty. He still had his on his dark shades but even with them on, Peter knew he didn’t take his eyes off of him for a single second.

 

Peter had on a clear breathing mask that clamped his nostrils shut. His tank was placed right next to him as he held his cannula in his hands. Since he got pneumonia, he had to attend bi-weekly respiratory therapy sessions. His nurse helped him with new breathing exercises to help strengthen his lung. Then, they would go through some tests to see how his lung was doing.   Thankfully, he was almost done with the last test. Then, all he had to do was get blood drawn and then he could go home. He was dizzy and wanted to sleep for a little while.

 

The nurse took the mask off of Peter’s face which allowed him to quickly put the cannula back on.

 

“Are you alright, sweetie?”

 

Peter nodded, “Just… a bit dizzy.”

 

She smiled sweetly at him, “Don’t worry, we’re alright now. It’ll pass soon, try to stay seated, Okay?”

 

Standing up, she turned towards Tony. “Alright Mr. Stark, We’re all done. I’ll go get Dr. Connors so we can knock this blood test out of the way. After that’s taken care of, he’ll give you all the information you guys need before we send you home.”

 

“Is there anything else you boys need before I leave?”

 

“I-”

 

“No, we’re fine.” Tony walked over towards Peter’s chair and rested his arm on it. “Thank you.”

 

“I’ll see you both again soon,” She gave a warm smile before exiting the room and closing the door behind her.

 

“Are you okay, kid?”

 

Peter looked away, “Fine.” He murmured.

 

Tony gave a half smile before helping his son out of his seat, “C’mon, let’s get to the bed.”

 

The boy silently obeyed. He dragged his tank with him to the small hospital bed in the middle of the room. As soon as his head was on the pillow, he turned his back so that he facing away from his father.

 

Maybe one day he might be able to speak for himself.

 

“Kid… what’s up? You know you can talk to me about anything on your mind.”

 

Peter didn’t even turn. “It’s nothing. I’m fine.”

 

“Did I… do something…?”

 

Tony hesitated, “Because… I would never do something on purpose to upset you, you know that right?”

 

His father slowly took a seat next to him, “Everything... I’ve ever done was to keep you safe and protect you. If I have ever hurt you, you need to let me know, please.”

 

“What did I do, wrong? Please tell me.”

 

He turned his head to face Tony. He looked up into his sad eyes, “It’s nothing, Dad. I’m just tired.”

 

He felt his heart drop to his stomach as a massive wave of guilt washed over him. He never meant to be an ungrateful jerk and make his dad feel bad. After all, his dad was the one bringing him to the hospital and using his money to pay for all the medication he was on. There were probably a thousand more important things his father needed to be doing. After all, he owned his own company.

 

Maybe his dad did speak over him sometimes, but that was fine. Peter knew that the things wanted to say for himself weren’t important anyway.

 

Tony’s face flooded with relief, “I’m glad… that’s good…”

 

He held one of Peter’s hand’s in his, “If I do anything to hurt you, you gotta let me know, promise?”

 

Peter turned his body to lie down on his back. Sometimes, it was easier to breathe that way. “I promise, Dad.”

 

His father leaned down and placed a kiss on his forehead. “Моето красиво момче… Моето красиво момче…” He whispered. “I would give you... the sun and the moon if I could.”

 

“I know… I know…”

 

For a few moments, they coexisted in complete silence. Peter stared up at the bright white light as Tony sat by his bedside gently holding his hand. Peter’s hand was like glass and Tony treated it as such. He held it delicately, rubbing it with feather-like touches every so often. After a little while, he stopped and let Peter’s hand sink into his. A couple more beats passed before he laid soft kisses on it.

 

“I love you, Kiddo.” His eyes were heavy and his face exhausted, “More than anything in this world.”

 

“You’re all I have.” Peter admitted, “And I love you, too.”

 

A loud knock interrupted Peter and his father. It didn’t take long for the door to open right after. A tall lean man walked in with a polite smile on his face. In his hand was a blue hospital bag. As he walked closer to them, his long lab coat trailed behind him.

 

“Mr. Stark. Peter.” He said, “How are you both today?”

 

Peter tried to sit up by himself, but Tony already had one hand on his back helping him up. He winced at the sharp pain in his lower spine. “I’m… alright, Doctor Connors.” He mustered out.

 

He tossed the teenager a sympathetic look, “That’s good to hear.”

 

“How are you feeling, Peter?”

 

Peter took a deep breath in, “I feel-”

 

“He’s fine,” Tony spoke. He never pulled his attention away from his son.

 

The doctor paused, his voice was low. “I was asking Peter.”

 

“I’m doing okay.” The boy said quietly.

 

Connors placed his bag on the table next to Peter's bed before taking out the vials, the latex gloves, and a needle. “That’s good. How’s your back feeling?”

 

“Uhm… there’s pain… sometimes… but other than that it’s… bearable.”

 

“All things considered, that’s… good,” Connors said.

 

Peter nodded, “Yeah. I guess it is.”

 

The doctor nodded before giving the boy a warm but saddened smile. “I’m going to need quite a few samples of your blood today.”

 

“Okay,” Peter took off his jacket and rolled up his right sleeve. He felt his heart thump faster and faster as his hand became clammy. It wasn’t the fact that he had to get blood drawn and the needles scared him, it was that he had to expose his wrists. The sea of guilt began to suffocate him all over again. Luckily, Connors had seen the scars dozens of times during previous examinations and said nothing of it. But, anytime anyone saw them, their looks of pity made Peter want to hide.

 

He didn’t want anyone to look at him.

 

As Peter’s body burned with embarrassment, he closed his eyes and turned back towards the ceiling. As the smell of rubbing alcohol penetrated the room, he tried not to gag. He felt a few light taps inside the inside crease of his elbow and then the needle came in he bit his tongue to keep himself from wincing. He thought that after ten years of dealing with cancer he would be used to this feeling by now.

 

“You’re doing great, Peter,” Connors finished off one vial and prepared Peter’s arm for the second one, “Just a few more.”

 

“Okay…”

 

He allowed his mind to drift off and carry his thoughts anywhere but here. All he wanted was to be… happy. Why couldn’t God give him that? If it meant that he suddenly didn’t have cancer anymore, although extremely unlikely, he would take it. If it also meant that he died in his sleep tonight, he would take that too. His life was a never-ending cycle of pain and disappointment.

 

His cancer stole everything from him and his parents. His childhood wasn’t focused on making friends and planning for the future. He didn’t get to go outside, go on field trips, or do anything remotely _fun_. It was countless rounds of chemotherapy, surgeries, and all-consuming exhaustion that eroded his mind and body.

 

Every day was just…  pain.

 

Something always went wrong no matter how many times Steve prayed or how many treatments he got. It was never getting any better than this.

 

This was _his_ life now and at this point, there were only two choices. He could either die prematurely with medication or, suffer until his very last day. Both of them ended with his heart stopping but, that didn’t worry Peter, not really anyway.

 

All he wanted was the pain to go away.

 

His father’s soothing touch distracted the boy from the piercing sting in his other arm. “How are you feeling?”

 

“I’m… alright.” His brown eyes fluttered open. When he felt his doctor wrap the bandage around his arm, he tried to sit up.

 

It was a lot harder than he expected it to be. His arm was sore as it shook under his weight while the room spun above him.

 

“Hey…” Tony gently pushed Peter back down, “Stay down.”

 

The doctor removed his gloves and put the needles inside of a white biohazard bin. “You might want to take it slow for a few minutes, Peter. You’ll be feeling a bit light-headed.” He put the blood vials inside a plastic tray. Snapping it shut, he put in inside of the blue bag he came in with. “I’ll check back with you both in about thirty minutes.”

 

“Do either of you both have any questions for me before I leave?”

 

“No…” Peter murmured into his pillow, “Thank you, Doctor.”

 

Tony met the doctor’s eyes and gave a small nod, “Thank you.” He watched as Connors nodded in return before closing the door behind him.

 

He then placed Peter’s black jacket over his small body like a blanket. “You must be freezing. You’ll warm up soon.”

 

He held one of the cold hands in his, continuing to massage it gently. Tony gazed down silently and smiled softly for a couple of beats. His eyes were filled with an immeasurable amount of pure love for his son.

 

Sometimes whenever he looked at him, he remembered the day he and Steve brought him home from the hospital. Sometimes whenever Peter spoke, Tony remembered when he spoke his first words. And sometimes whenever they touched, Tony remembered the day Peter took his first steps right into his open arms.

 

There was absolutely nothing Tony wouldn’t do to protect his baby. Raising him was a purpose he had that was bigger than himself. Peter was the only good thing in this corrupt and rotten world and it was Tony's sole purpose to keep him good, pure, and clean. He wasn’t going to let his kid make the same mistakes he made, or any in general.

 

There was nothing, absolutely _nothing_ , Tony wouldn’t do to keep him safe.

 

He wasn’t going to fail his son, not again.

 

A slight knock interrupted Tony’s train of thought. It was the nurse, May, from before. She had a bright smile on her face and a small plastic cup in her hand. “Hello, again dears.”

 

“Hello, again.”

 

She waved silently towards Peter. He was lying down towards Tony with his eyes closed. When he heard her gentle voice, he cracked open his eyes and let out a small smile. He gave her a small wave back.

 

“I brought Peter a little something to help with his head.” She said, handing the cup to Tony. He looked inside and saw a small bowl of fruit.

 

He hesitated. He looked up and gave her a fake smile, “Thank you. I appreciate it.”

 

May put on a genuine one as she made her way back towards the door. “No problem, honey. Dr. Connors will be back with the both of you later.”

 

“Thank you, Ms. Parker.” Tony nodded, watching her leave.

 

Peter lifted his upper body up the get the fruit from Tony, but he got his hands pushed back down. The boy looked up at his dad, a bit confused.

 

“There’s no way in hell I’m allowing you to eat _that_ ,” Tony muttered. The cup landed in the metal trash can with a small bang.

 

“Oh… alright…” Peter put his head back down on the pillow, closing his eyes. He wasn’t feeling hungry but, he actually wanted to eat the fruit to make the dizziness go away. He guessed that if his Dad didn’t want him to eat it, then he wasn’t going to. He also was not going to question him about it either. His father knew what was best for him, always.

 

“Rest, Kid.” Tony whispered, “Close your eyes and rest.”

 

**. . .**

 

_“What would you of done if you were in my shoes, hm? You have a son, don’t you? You’re telling me you were going to watch him die?”_

 

_“I would’ve given my son the freedom of choice. After everything Peter has been through, you at least owe him that.”_

 

Peter’s eyes opened halfway. Vertigo dominated his vision as he tried to focus his eyes on the spinning room. His chest started to tighten with an all to familiar growing pressure. The muscles in his chest began to cramp, leaving him breathless. It was hard to breathe as a heavy pain pressed down on his chest refusing to allow it to expand to its full length. He tried his best to ignore it though, but as the time went on it became increasingly difficult.

 

His hearing was muddy, but to his best ability, he followed the sound of the voices. They belonged to Tony’s and Connors. He could tell they were standing above him.

 

He could feel his body begin to hyperventilate. Taking simple breaths in and out seemed like it was consuming most of his energy. In moments like this, he felt like a slave to his own body. The crippling pain was everywhere and he wanted it all to stop.

 

Moments like these made him swell with fear because he wasn't in control. He couldn't control what his body did or what it was eventually going to do. He was only a bystander, observing in pain as the agony ran its course through his body.

 

_'Come on... not now... please not now.'_

 

“So you would kill your son?” Tony asked. He crossed his arms over his chest, taking a small step back. His eyes hid behind his sunglasses, but his voice trembled in the slightest.

 

Connors hesitated, “If that’s what he truly wanted.”

 

Tony turned away, staring out the big window. He shook his head, clearing his throat. He wiped the right side of his face. “That’s sick.” He whispered. “You’re sick, you know that?”

 

Peter struggled to lift himself up. He let out a small moan of pain, “Dad…”

 

Tony whipped his head towards Peter, eyes wide. “Kid, what’s wrong? Talk to me.”

 

Before the boy had a chance to speak, he brought the inside of his elbow to his mouth. Sandpaper ripped against his throat as it shot a stabbing pain that zipped down to his stomach. His lower abdomen began jerking in pain with each cough that left his body. The tightening in his chest was replaced with a burning, stabbing pain. Each cough that escaped his body left a pounding in his head with eyes on the brink of watering.

 

The doctor quickly handed Tony a box of tissues and within seconds there were a few in Peter’s hand. He brought it to his mouth and felt the thick, metallic tasting liquid come from his lips. He closed his eyes and continued coughing trying his best to steal large breaths in between. As Peter’s face turned red, hellfire raged over his chest.

 

“Steady Kid…” Tony soothed. He rubbed Peter’s violently shaking back as gently as he could. “It’ll pass… try to breathe…”

 

After an eternity of gagging on his blood, the sensation in Peter's chest began to diminish as his abdomen fell still. He used the clean part of the tissue to wipe his lips. He was trying his best to steady his rapid breathing.

 

It took him a while to open his eyes because he didn’t want to see his father’s worried eyes or the sympathetic look from his doctor. Deep down, Peter knew that he was the source of his father’s problems. If he were gone, his father would be happier.

 

So much happier.

 

“Sorry… that’s really gross...” Peter spoke up, he crumpled the napkin in his hands.

 

“Not your fault.” His father replied.

 

“I can throw it-” Peter tried, but his father already had the napkin out of his hand and in the trash.

 

Peter looked down a bit embarrassed, “Thanks, Dad.”

 

Connor’s eyes bounced from Tony to Peter. He hesitated, sighing a bit before speaking. “Does this happen often, Peter?”

 

The boy shook his head, trying to lift his upper body. “Not really. I mean… I would cough but it never used to be this bad…”

 

Tony adjusted his sunglasses before helping Peter fully sit up. He had one supporting his back and the other holding his arm. “Can’t you give him anything?” He asked.

 

“No… no…” Peter blurted, shaking his head. “You don’t have to… I don’t want to take anything else.” He looked up silently at his doctor, but his dark brown eyes continued to do the speaking for him.

 

“Kid, what do you mean?” Tony stared at him in confusion. “You’re in pain. I’m trying to make it go away.”

 

Connors looked down, exhaling silently. “Peter, I’m afraid we’ve been over this one too many times-”

 

“But... I’m almost eighteen.”

 

“What?” Tony spoke up, he turned his attention from Peter, “He’s almost eighteen for what?”

 

“Secobarbital… and then pentobarbital.” Peter said quietly, “I wouldn’t feel a thing.” He felt the knot in his stomach tighten when he felt his father’s grip on him loosen. Fear consumed him as he waited for a reaction.

 

Peter dropped his head back to the floor as soon as Tony’s face went pale. His expression morphed itself into a twisted scowl. “We are not talking about this again.” His voice was firm.

 

Connor’s pulled up a chair to the foot of Peter’s bed. He sat down, holding the folder containing all Peter’s medical history. He cracked it open for about a millisecond before shutting it again. “Based on your condition… I could...  make it happen.”

 

“But, it’s not up to me.” Connors' voice dropped as he looked up at Tony.

 

The doctor watched as Tony’s eyebrows furrowed. His lips parted in shock for a few seconds as nothing came out. Through the sunglasses, Connors could see the dark brown eyes begin to swell up with tears. “No…no…  no!”

 

“What the hell is this?”

 

“You’re supposed to be a doctor! _The_ doctor!” His voice rose. He took long strides until he was standing above Connors. “You’re the best in the country! You’re supposed to be saving people’s lives, not ending it!”

 

“Dad-”

 

“Save his life!”

 

Connor’s stood up, towering over Tony. His eyes were dark and his voice was low. “I have done everything in my power to cure your son, you know that.” He murmured, “But It’s not that simple, Mr. Stark.”

 

“Everything hurts…” Peter spoke up, “I don’t want to live-”

 

“Can’t you give him some more pain meds?”

 

“That’s… that’s... not what I want, Dad.” Peter cowered, his voice was barely a whisper.

 

Tony whipped his body towards his son’s. He was standing tall and tense. His arms were folded tightly across his chest as his glasses hung on the edge of his nose. When Peter dared to look up, he could see the wrath hidden inside of his father’s dark eyes. “What is it that you want then, huh?” Tony asked, “You want Steve and me to kill you? Is that what you want?”

 

“My answer is _no_. It is never going to happen.”

 

Connors put himself between them, hoping to calm the older man down. “Look,” He placed a gentle hand on Tony’s shoulder, “I know this isn’t my place but-”

 

His hand got shrugged off carelessly. Tony took a step back, pushing his glasses up. “You’re right.” He agreed bitterly. “This _isn’t_ your place.”

 

“Peter, we’re leaving. Now.” Within an instant, he was already next to his bedside helping him up.

 

“Our appointment is not finished.”

 

“I’ll reschedule.”

 

Peter’s glassy eyes looked up, “Dr. Connors… I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean-” He said.

 

“Don’t apologize, Peter.” He replied, stepping off to the side of the room. He made a clear exit for the boy and his father. He put on a polite, but pained smile as he watched Tony practically drag his son out of the room by his arm.

 

“I’ll see you soon.”

 

**. . .**

 

The drive back home from the hospital was silent as the boy kept his focus on the outside world. It was hard to keep in his tears that wanted to be free. His heart hung low and his throat started to burn. He shut his eyes as tightly as he could as his bottom lip trembled. The _one_ thing he wanted most in this world was the one thing he couldn’t have.

 

At this stage, he knew he was at the point of no return. There was little to no chance of him ever going into remission.

 

Everything hurt, all the time.

 

The medicine he took for it could only do so much.

 

All the boy wanted was for all the pain to go away and he knew there was only one way to achieve that.

 

When he and his father returned back home, Tony sent him straight to bed and told him he needed to get some rest. Peter didn’t put up a fight. He did exactly what he was told. The last thing he wanted to do was to infuriate him even more.

 

Peter didn't like it when his father was angry.

 

It scared him sometimes.

 

As soon as Peter entered his room, he shut his door behind him. Within a few seconds, his breathing started to hitch and a few tears began to slip out. Shaking his head, he used the sleeve of his jacket to wipe them away.

 

_‘Don’t cry.’_

 

_‘Don’t cry.’_

 

_‘Don’t cry.’_

 

With a small thump, he threw himself on the foot of his bed. His hands covered his face, muffling the sound of the sobs that escaped his lips. He tried to hold them back, but he couldn’t stop.

 

“P-P-Please... God, if you’re... l-listening, please… please don’t let me… d-don’t let me… wake up.”

 

_‘Please please please.’_

 

With trembling arms, he took off his shoes and then his jeans replacing them with his grey sweatpants from earlier this morning. It took the last bit of strength he had to drag his body up towards his pillow. Like a dying insect, he curled himself up. With weak arms, he pulled his large grey blanket on top of him.

 

Peter hugged his pillow to his face as more tears started to pool out. As time went on his sadness became stronger. It engulfed his body and his thoughts leaving him shaking in horror. He knew that the pain would never truly go away. As his sobs became more violent, it became harder to breathe. He couldn’t speak and his face was wet from the tear-stained pillow pressed against it. He gripped his pillow as hard as he could, turning his knuckles white.

 

He continued to cry until the pounding in his head begged him to stop. When he had no more tears left, he began screaming in a mixture of frustration and desperation into his pillow. He continued until his throat was sore and his voice went hoarse.

 

What did he do to deserve this?

 

Why him?

 

Soon after, Tony came rushing into his room. He threw himself next to the trembling boy and tried his best to pry him away from his pillow. It took a while, but he managed to get Peter into his arms and his head on his chest. “Baby… baby... kid… it's okay.”

 

Peter let out pained whimpers as his father stroked his hair. “Baby… listen to me... it’s okay…” He soothed, “I’m here… I’m here… I’m not going anywhere… I’m here.”

 

He left dark puddles on his father’s shirt as he repeatedly shook his head. His tiny body trembled violently as his arms laid limp at his sides. “P-Please… please…” His voice came out as a dull whisper. It was hard to speak, let along breathe with his tears stuck in his throat. “P-Please... I-I can’t… can’t take this any... more…. I can’t… I can’t… do this.”

 

“Dad… I’m… I’m… I’m sorry … I’m just so…  so … tired.”

 

As Tony held his son tighter he continued to stroke his hair. “Peter… please… shush…” He spoke, his voice breaking. “You’re exhausted… you need your rest... Just rest.”

 

“D-don’t … m-make... make… me do... do... this … anymore.”

 

“Baby… steady…” Tony continued. “Just... close your eyes... Everything is going... to be okay.”

 

Peter slowly opened his eyes to look up at his father. His lip trembled as he blinked back the tears about to come out of his eyes. He let out quiet whimpers as his bottom lip quaked. He felt a shred of relief as he formed his next words.

 

“Please… please... let me die.”

 

“I w-want it… I want it... more than anything.”


	2. Bring Back What Once Was Mine

Peter watched the sun rest on top of a massive sea of dark green trees. He stared up in awe as the sky displayed a painting of red, orange, and purple clouds. Some of them blended together while others overlapped one another. Somehow, it created a chaotic but peaceful sight in front of his tired eyes. He sat on his beige window seat hugging a small black pillow to his chest. He took a deep breath in, letting the tension seep from his body. In front of him was a large bay window with three panels that could open and close with a key he kept in his room. As he sat and stared, he felt the cool breeze against his skin.

 

With ease, the boy reached his arm out of his window to hold the sun delicately in his hand. Most times, he envied the birds that sat in the trees or flew freely through the sky. He longed to be out in the clouds, out in the trees, or out with the sun. Anywhere was better than being stuck in here.

 

Watching from his window.

 

Counting the days.

 

_“Kiddo? It’s me, Can I come in?”_

 

Peter’s heart jumped when he heard his dad from the other side of his door. He rushed to close and lock the windows without making a sound. He got the key and hid it under one of the pillows. Without hurting himself, he got up and rushed to his bed. Picking up a book from his bookshelf, he turned to a random page. His dad _hated_ it when he was next to a window. Peter shuddered at the thought of his dad's inconceivable rage. If he found out he _willingly_ sat right next to an open one for _hours_ all hell would break loose.

 

As if right on cue, Tony walked in. He held a small bowl in one hand, and a bottle of pills in the other. He searched the room before laying his eyes upon Peter.  “Did you hear me?”

 

The boy looked up innocently, “Sorry, I guess… I didn’t.” He motioned to the book in his hands, “Reading.”

 

“That’s alright,”

 

His dad sat down next to him handing him the bowl and a small fork. “How are you?”

 

Peter placed his book next to him. With a small frown, he stared at his food hoping that he would be able to keep it down. He hesitated, “I’m great, Dad.”

 

“How are you feeling?”

 

The boy hesitated again, “Fine,” He murmured. He had a migraine earlier today but luckily it went away. His lower back and chest felt sore, but it was something he learned to deal with almost everyday. And as for his lung, it was surprisingly easy to breathe today. But if anything, Peter guessed it was because he hadn’t really done much. He spent most of his time in bed or sitting by his window.

 

“That’s good,” His dad gave a weak smile. “Eat, kiddo.”

 

Peter picked up his fork and took a bite. It was Кебапче _(Kebapche)_ and a colorful array of steamed vegetables. Кебапче was essentially grilled meat with spices. It's shaped like a hot dog but, to him, it was a thousand times better. Traditionally, it's a simple mix of pork and beef. But, the ones his dad made were only made out of pork because Peter wasn’t allowed to eat beef.

 

Since he got cancer, there were a lot of things he wasn’t allowed to eat anymore. Luckily, he could still have other meats. The only rule was that they had to be hormone and antibiotic free. As for everything else, it was pretty simple. Tony fed him only organic foods to avoid the preservatives and additives. Everything he ate was made from scratch which meant no processed or pre-packaged food **.** The only thing he ate that Tony didn’t make himself was whole grain bread, brown rice, and oatmeal.

 

Sometimes.

 

If Peter wanted to get something to eat by himself, he had to make sure his dad knew about it first. Tony needed to know how many calories, macronutrients, vitamins, and minerals his son consumed everyday. Steve thought it was a bit excessive, but his dad never listened. He always said it was to keep Peter safe.

 

And, of course, the boy didn’t argue because his dad knew what was best for him. But, if there was one thing he really _really_ wanted right now, it was definitely a cupcake.

 

Or maybe a brownie?

 

No, it was _definitely_ a chocolate chip cookie.

 

Perhaps it was all three?

 

“Is the purifier helping?”

 

As Peter put a piece of broccoli into his mouth he looked solemnly towards his closet. Next to it was a large black cylinder like object that his dad installed a few days ago. It was an air purifier intended to help him breathe easier. It gave off a low hum that he fell asleep to some nights. Other than that, he didn’t notice a difference.

 

“Yeah… It’s helping so much, ” Peter murmured, putting his head down, “Thanks, Dad. I appreciate it.”

 

Tony pushed a few curls away from his son’s head before giving it dozens of small kisses, “I’m glad,” he whispered. “I love you, baby. I love you so so much.”

 

“You are going to get better.”

 

Peter looked up into his dad’s desperate eyes. They were exhausted, yet beaming with optimism and joy. The young boy bit his tongue, not wanting to put his dad in a bad mood or start another argument today. “Of course, Dad… I’m going to get better.”

 

A short lived weak smile formed on his dad’s lips. “I spoke to your advising counselor a few days ago,” He spoke. “The both of us are excited for your freshman year.”

 

Peter felt his stomach drop and his hands become clammy. Surprisingly, he had completely forgotten about school. It had been a good while since he and his dad talked about it. The last time was before his doctor’s appointment a few weeks ago.

 

“Dad...” Peter rested his fork in his bowl. “Can we please talk about this later? I don’t even want to think-”

 

“Talk about it _later_ !?” Tony asked glaring down at him. His dark brown eyes were perplexed at the content of his son’s stupidity. His voice raised with hints of anger bubbling underneath the surface.  “ _Peter_ , baby, you start in less than two weeks and you don’t even know your schedule yet. You still have no idea what the campus looks like, or the things you need for your classes! And now you're telling me that you want to talk about this later? Kid, we don’t have time for later.”

 

Peter pulled himself away, his voice shaking. “I don’t… want to do this… Please dad… please please… don’t make-”

 

His dad let out a large sigh, “Kid, _Please_. Not today, not now.”

 

“I’m only trying to help you. Just let me help you.”

 

“Sorry,” Peter mumbled. Was there any point in arguing with his dad? He knew that if he kept pushing, he would only make things difficult. After all, he was told that he didn’t actually have a choice.

 

“Some kids… can only dream about going to college. Their parents can’t even afford to send them... Some kids don’t even have parents that care about their future…  or their education for that matter…”

 

~~_“Some parents don’t have kids dying of cancer.”_ ~~

 

Peter felt a pang of guilt hit his stomach. He closed his eyes, letting out a quiet sigh. Why was he so ungrateful? His dad was right, some kids didn't have the opportunities or resources he had. Just like his dad said, most could only _dream_ about going to college but couldn’t. Peter, on the other hand, felt as if he had no real reason not to go. After everything Tony had sacrificed for him, the least Peter could do was one thing, just _one_ thing, to make him proud.

 

“Are you going to let me down, Peter?” Tony asked.

 

“I won’t…. I won’t… I swear to you. I will not let you down.”

 

“I know you won’t.”

 

Tony wrapped his arm around Peter’s shoulder. Pulling him close, he ran a hand through his long light brown curls. “This year we’ll focus on mechanical engineering, alright? And then in your sophomore year, we’ll add in Biochemistry. Does that sound good to you?”

 

Peter nodded his head slowly.

 

“Luckily, your counselor was kind enough to schedule you a few long breaks during the day. It’s incase you feel tired or you need a bit longer to eat your lunch.”

 

“Okay,”

 

“Be happy, baby.” Tony said. “This is an excellent opportunity.”

 

_‘I am happy... This is an excellent opportunity for me.’_

 

_‘I am very happy…  This is an excellent opportunity for me.’_

 

_‘I am very happy. And deep down, I know that this is an excellent opportunity for me.’_

 

As Peter rested his head on his dad’s chest, he listened to a heartbeat as steady as a beating drum. It soothed his anxieties and somehow made him feel at ease. It reminded Peter that no matter what happened, Tony was the only constant, stable force in his life. After everything that Peter had been through, his dad was the only person he trusted to make things feel alright. No one else cared about him more than he did. “I am happy.” He repeated, “And you’re right, this is an excellent opportunity for me.”

 

“But… ” Peter shifted his body, “I just… I’ve never been to a real school before…and I’m… well, scared.”

 

“What do you have to be scared of?”

 

“I’ve never been around so many people before… what if… I accidentally embarrass myself… or the other students don’t like me? And then… I end up… alone?”

 

His dad continued running his hands through his son’s curls, “Peter, listen to me. You’re worrying way too much about this. I need you to remember that the only opinion about you that matters, is mine. Even if, I’m not sending you to school to make friends. I need you to understand that your first and only priority is to learn.”

 

“And you’re never alone, you will always have me. I’m not going anywhere.”

 

Peter slowly nodded his head, “You’re right,” He finally spoke. It's not like anyone would want to be his friend anyway so he guessed that it wouldn’t matter what people thought of him. The best thing he could do for his sake and others was to only focus on his studies. That was all.

 

Tony’s eyes glinted with satisfaction. He looked up towards the ceiling, grinning to himself. “I’m always right.” He agreed.

 

“And I know you know that.”

 

Peter kept his head on his dad’s chest as he listened to his steady heartbeat. He was held close, warm in his dad’s arms. With everything that happened in the past and the things coming in the future, Peter was so thankful he had someone always watching over him. He knew that he wasn’t smart enough to make his own choices, but that’s okay. With his Dad by his side, he would never have to.

 

It was clear that Tony knew _everything_ . Whatever Tony says, _is_.

 

That’s the way it has always been.

 

After a few beats of silence, there was a quiet knock on the door which peaked Peter’s interest. He glanced up towards Tony who was glaring at the door but his dark eyes were low and he had a scowl on his face. Soon after, the door opened and there stood, Steve.

 

Peter’s eyes lit up and for the first time in months, a genuine smile formed on his face. He ripped himself away from Tony and dived right into Steve’s open arms. His tiny body was engulfed in his father’s as he bent down a bit to return the hug.

 

“I… I missed you…I missed you... I missed you… ” Peter buried himself into Steve’s chest even more. He hadn’t seen or heard from him in almost a month because Peter didn’t own a cell phone. And whenever he even mentioned Steve around Tony, he would get upset or sometimes, angry. So whenever Steve left, the boy kept all of _it_ inside. “I missed you… so much…”

 

Steve kissed Peter’s forehead about a dozen times repeating the same words. One of his arms held Peter’s backside and the other was behind his head holding his long curls. “I’m sorry, Pete.” He finally spoke, “I’m sorry for leaving you again.”

 

“It’s okay… It’s okay…” Peter held on tighter as if Steve was going to vanish in his arms. He couldn’t put it into words how much he missed him. All he could do was breathe in his smell and prayed to God, or whoever’s listening, that his father would stay for good this time. “I’m so happy you’re here now… I’m so happy you’re here…  I missed you… so much.

 

Steve internally prepared himself as he lifted his head to face Tony. He was standing by Peter’s bedside with his hands in his pockets. His eyes gazed silently as his facial expression was blank.  

 

He hadn’t uttered a single word.

 

“Hi, Hon.” Steve’s voice was small.

 

Tony hesitated. Soon after, his eyebrows began to furrow in the slightest. “You _actually_ came back? That’s a surprise.”

 

“I thought you had run off for good this time.”

 

As Steve and Peter broke free from their hug, the blonde took careful steps towards his husband. He came closer as if he was approaching a wounded animal. “No, Tony. I haven’t. You know I would never-”

 

Tony took a few steps back folding his arms over his chest, “What are you doing here?”

 

“I came to talk… ”

 

“ _Talk_?! That’s all you came to do? Just talk?”

 

Steve’s heavy blue eyes glanced towards their son before returning to his husband, “Can we please not do this here?”

 

Tony briefly copied the gesture. “Fine,” He grumbled. He took a deep breath in before he passed the both of them on his way out of the bedroom.

 

When his dad left the room, Peter looked up at Steve and held his hand. His face resembled a small child’s. The boy tried his best to keep his voice steady and the tears from escaping the prison of his eyes. “Y-You’re not… going…  to leave again, are you?”

 

Steve sighed, “Peter, I-”

 

“Please don’t go again.”

 

His father bent down to Peter’s eye level. He looked into the large brown eyes that stared back at him with an indescribable amount of fear, “Pete, listen to me.” His voice was calm.

 

“I’m _not_ going to leave you. I-”

 

 _“Rogers. Come. Now.”_ Steve could hear Tony from outside the room.

 

He put his hands on Peter’s shoulders rubbing them softly. “I gotta go for a few minutes, but I’ll be right back." His voice was still calm. “And then, we can catch up on everything I missed, okay?” As he stood up, Peter grabbed on to one of his hands, again.

 

“Promise?” He asked, his voice small.

 

“I promise.”

 

Then, Peter’s weak grasp faded into nothing as his hands slipped to his sides. “Okay,”

 

His father then tossed him a reassuring smile. “I’ll see you in a few. Don’t worry, Pete. Everything is going to be fine.”

 

Peter wanted to believe him, but every fiber he had was telling him that his father was lying. Things weren’t going to be okay no matter how badly he wanted them to. There was no way Steve or Tony could go back to who they used to be. The people they were during the time in their lives when there were no door slams and no late night drinks. Whenever Steve left, Peter would often cry himself to sleep hoping that his father was alright, where ever he was. Sometimes, the boy would open his drawer and pull out a photo of his parents when they got married. He could see the joy in their eyes and how much they adored each other. Steve held Tony in his arms and their smiles were the biggest and brightest he had ever seen.

 

Every time Peter thought about that picture he wished he could bring it back, bring _them_ back. He wished he could bring back what once was theirs, a loving family consisting of just the two of them. That was the only way they would truly be happy.

 

Peter knew that he ruined his parents lives. They really would be better off without him.

 

“Pete…  do me a favor, okay?” Steve asked, his voice was soft. He stood halfway out of the door. “I need you to stay in your room for me.”

 

Peter nodded obediently.

 

The door then shut behind Steve. The boy could feel his heartbeat pound against his ribcage as his fear started building. He started pacing around his room, running his hands through his hair. All he hoped was that this argument wouldn’t end badly.

 

He wished he could do something to help, but there was absolutely nothing. No matter what his parents argued about, it always ended the same way. Steve leaving and then Tony drinking.

 

Peter’s body froze when he heard a faint yell of his name from downstairs. He rushed over to the door before pausing again. Shanking, his hand hovered over the handle.

 

No… he shouldn’t do it.

 

What if they were arguing about him? What if _that’s_ why Steve left?

 

A guilty realization washed over the boy. _That’s_ why Steve left. Peter knew that he was the problem. He gripped the handle, opening the door silently. Maybe if he could hear what was going on, Peter could find out what he was doing wrong and fix everything once and for all. This was his chance to make things right. He slung his tank over his shoulder as he took small footsteps down the hallway. He took quiet breaths as he hid behind the wall next to the staircase.

 

 _“You’ve been gone for_ **_that_ ** _long and_ **_this_ ** _is all you have to say?”_

 

_“Tony-”_

 

_“You didn’t even fucking call! Not once!”_

 

_“All you do is think about yourself. I can’t believe how selfish you are! You leave for weeks on end only to waltz back into our lives like everything is fine? You don’t give a single fuck about this family, do you?”_

 

Peter heard Tony’s voice breaking, _“Do you even care about Peter anymore?”_

 

_“Tony, that’s not true and you know that. Peter is-”_

 

_“Clearly not important to you.”_

 

_“Hon, please let me-”_

 

_“Where were you all this time, anyway? And Rogers, I swear to you, I will know if you lie to me.”_

 

_“... I was… I was… I was…  with Bucky, but--- Tony, stop it. Stop it right now. Don’t look at me like that. Bucky is my friend and…  I would never-”_

 

Peter instinctively took a step back as he heard Tony’s voice grow louder. _“You would … never what? Abandon your family!? You say Peter is important to you and you tell me that I am important to you, yet you leave him, you leave_ **_us_ ** _to go fuck around with Barnes?”_

 

_“I would never do something like that, Tony.”_

 

_“So you just… you just… stayed at another man’s house for a few weeks and you expect me to believe that absolutely nothing happened? How stupid do you think I am?”_

 

_“Hon, nothing happened.”_

 

_“I don’t… I can’t…  believe you.”_

 

_“Bucky is my friend. He will always be my friend. I married you, Tony. I love you and I would… I would never commit something as foul as adultery.”_

 

_“I wish I could believe that, Steve. I honestly wish I could.”_

 

_“Baby, you and Peter-”_

 

 _“Don’t. You don’t deserve… you don’t deserve to say his name. And don’t you_ **_dare_ ** _try to touch me ever again.”_

 

_“What can I do to make this right?’_

 

There was a long silence.

 

_“Nothing.”_

 

Peter took this opportunity to rush back into his room. He threw himself onto his closet floor and brought his knees to his chest. The tears that hung from the bottom of his eyelids slid down his face and stained his pants.

 

Like an impending storm, his cries started out quiet before they grew louder, consuming him. Having hope that things were going to be okay was pointless. His parents were going to get divorced, weren’t they? He could _feel_ it. His family was falling apart and it was all his fault. Everything.

 

Would he have to choose who he lived with? What happens if he never see Steve again? What if he never sees Tony again?  

 

“Pete? Hey… What’s going on? Why are you in your closet?”

 

All the boy did was shake his head as he tried to hold in his cries, “I’m sorry… I’m so sorry.”

 

“Pete…” Steve sat down next to him, his eyes stared down with an overbearing amount of concern, “What’s going on? Why are you apologizing?”

 

“It’s… it’s…  all my fault, isn’t it?”

 

Guilt washed over Steve. “Pete… no… no it’s not.” He put his hand over his son's trembling shoulder, rubbing it softly, “None of this is your fault. Please believe me when I say this.”

 

As the boy slowly lifted his head his bottom lip trembled. With the sleeve of his shirt, he wiped away the tears on his face, “Are you… are you…  going to leave again?”

 

The longer Steve was silent, the heavier the crushing weight on Peter’s chest became. In that moment, he could feel even more tears slip down his cheeks and pool onto his hands. “Are… are you and Dad gonna get a divorce?”

 

His father hesitated, again. He turned away from Peter and faced the closet door instead.  “Of course not… That’s not… going to happen… ”

 

Peter sniffled as he wiped his face again, “Do you… do you… guys still love each other?”

 

Steve opened his mouth to speak, but then stopped himself. Putting his head down, he sighed. “Of course we do,” He finally let out.

 

“We do.”


	3. Journal Entries

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These are Peter’s journal entries from when he was ten.

Dear Journal,

I haven't written in a while, sorry. The treatment has been taking up most of my energy. When my lung collapsed a couple months ago the doctors wanted to keep me in the hospital to run a couple tests. Turns out that I actually got worse. Funny. The cancer finally spread to my other lung. I’m stage four now. Tony wouldn’t stop crying. I wish he would stop. He never stops. Steve didn’t say anything. I wasn’t expecting him to.

It has become harder to fall and stay asleep. The medication could only do so much or sometimes I would wake up struggling to catch my breath. But it was alright. Later that night I heard my parents talking to themselves when they thought I was sleeping, I wasn't. The five year survival rate was less than ten percent. They sounded worried. I wasn’t. I didn’t want to live for another five years anyway. It was crazy to think how just last year how I said I would've given anything to live. But not like this. Not anymore. I was already dead. I felt empty. I felt so cold.

To the doctors, the only thing keeping me alive were the machines. They were wrong. The only motivation I had to open my eyes every morning was seeing my parents. I loved them so much. But it was getting harder to breathe, harder to speak, and even harder to write. But I love them. I love them so so much. I only wish I had more time.

I love you Dad and Pa. Thank you for everything. I love you.

Peter

* * *

 

May 29th

Hi Journal,

I would give anything to be normal and feel the sun on my skin one last time. I want to be okay. My parents always tell me I was going to get better, but asking me to have hope in my failing body was easier said than done. I remember when they stood by my bedside begging me to keep on fighting. And surprisingly, it worked for a little while. It gave me courage. Even on the day when I couldn’t catch my breath so I ended up screaming for them to open the window or the days where I couldn’t even tell them I loved them back, I still had that tiny spark in me to keep on going. It was hard, but I tried my best not to cry. I didn’t want to. Not again. I don't want them to worry. It wasn't fair.

But after a while of this hell, I can no longer handle it. I can't do this anymore. My life isn’t worth the effort anymore. It’s not worth as much as my parents think it is. Everyday I pray to God to let me die in my sleep. I don’t know if he’s reading this, but I need him to know that I’m not sad anymore. I’m just tired. Breathing is a chore for me. Eating, drinking, even using the bathroom takes up all of my energy. Everything hurts. It hurts so bad.I don’t know how much more of this I can take. God please please let me die. Please please. I’ll do anything. Anything. Please.

I’m tired.

* * *

 

June 5th

Journal,

Earlier today my parents visited me in the hospital. They didn’t look too well. Steve stood by the wall and said nothing, I wasn’t very surprised. He does that often. And Tony sat down next to my bed and held my hand. I remember his hands were shaking. Even though I’ll probably be dead in a few weeks, this was the happiest i'd been in a while. I was going to ask them about letting me die early. It hurt to talk but I had to try. I thought they would be okay with it.

Tony just started to cry. He wouldn't stop. He never stops. I felt terrible. It made me want to cry too. Steve said nothing and then left the room. If I died that should make them happier. They wouldn't have to deal with me anymore. They could move on and do something more worthwhile. Having the doctors kill me would be a good way to go I think. I hoped Dad and Pa would hold me and tell me things were going to be okay. I don’t know what happens after death. I’m scared. All I need is for them to tell me I’m going to be okay one last time. Once I’m gone my parents could finally move on and be happy.

If I'm being honest with myself maybe the preachers were right, this is God's plan. This is his own way of reminding me that I don't matter. Maybe he's not saving me from this disease because he's trying to remind me that my life never meant anything. This cancer was a simple way of erasing a mistake from the earth. I never thought that I would make a good fit anyway. How could I expect to feel like I had a place or a purpose if I was never even meant to be here?

Dad and Pa, if you ever get around to reading this I love you a lot and I’m really sorry for everything I put you both through.

Love always and forever,

Pete

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :(


	4. Becoming Whole Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> tw: self harm & thoughts of suicide

For once, Peter looked… somewhat at peace. 

 

The only sounds that filled his room were his light breaths flowing in and out. The only movement was his chest steadily rise and fall with each tranquil breath he drew. It seemed effortless, in a way. For once, Peter looked as if he wasn’t chasing his breath, struggling to breathe. Like a feather in the wind, it eased its way slowly, gracefully, and beautifully into its natural path of being. All things that come up must come down. All breaths that go in, come out. As Steve examined him in silence his eyes were somewhat sympathetic. He was sitting with his backside to Peter’s headboard and his legs stretched out on the bed. Peter was buried under his thick navy comforter. One hand rested under the blankets as the other had a loose grip on Steve’s hand.

 

Since Steve had been back, his only focus was reuniting with his family again. Every thought he had was focused on making every moment right. He didn’t want to make the same mistake again and Peter, luckily, was more than happy to embrace him. He welcomed him with open arms. The longing Steve carried for his son was washed away when Peter showered him with his love. Tony on the other hand, was another story that made the somber inferno of regret in the pit of Steve’s stomach smolder his insides until they became nothing but charred reminders of the past. Steve sensed it. Tony’s anger. His pain. Even though they still shared the same bed, it felt void of the love from before. The blond only felt at ease when he was with Peter. He often pondered on the thought that Peter was _one_ of the reasons why he came back, but the _only_ reason why he was continuing to stay. 

 

After Peter had finished what he could of his dinner that night, they went and sat in a darkened patch of grass in the front. As they watched the sun fall behind the trees and the stars begin to rise in the cool night’s sky, no words were spoken. Their eyes devoured the glorious sight hovering about their heads. Steve wasn’t thinking about Tony’s fire, his anger, his pain burning him up. And Peter didn’t think about his own anguish or that of his parents. When his curious brown eyes peered up in amazement the only thought he had was that one day, one day soon, he would close his eyes for the last time and return to the stars. In the near future when he would draw his last breath, he would do so without fear. Looking up at the gleaming dots of opportunity made him realize that his fate wasn’t truly the end. There was something else out there afterwards. There had to be. 

 

Steve and Peter’s time outside ended when Tony demanded that Peter get back inside. Steve didn’t fight him on it. He wasn’t in the mood to argue. Luckily, Peter was already feeling tired so he didn’t mind coming back in. Steve was glad. As they went into Peter’s room, his son went under his blankets and looked up at Steve. The gaze of trust, safety, and everlasting love that cooled down and reversed the effects of his hell-scorched insides. The result of Tony’s anger. His pain. His hurt. And when Peter asked Steve, _“Can you stay? Can you stay until I fall asleep?”_ with a gentle voice, a lonesome voice. How could he refuse? How could he betray his son’s trust, again? He had to stay. He promised Peter he would. 

 

He sat next to Peter and spoke softly of stories about his past. He spoke of ireland and his mother. He spoke of the meadow behind his family home and his father who loved to sing and smelled of applesauce. Steve didn’t stop. He didn’t want to. The words streamed out through his lips like simple surges from a steady and safe river. 

 

It was late in the night now and Peter had drifted off not too long ago. Steve used his free hand to bring some of his son’s hair behind his ear. In the moonlight that touched down on Peter’s skin, Steve’s mind brought him back to what seemed like an eternity ago. Peter’s innocence, his peacefulness, his quiet-like youth reminded Steve of Morgan. 

 

His and Tony’s first child. 

 

Steve treasured the time he had gotten to spend with her. The first and only seven months. The doctors called it sudden infant death syndrome. When she passed, it was hard to process. It seemed impossible to understand. One day, she was there. She was this new, promising life oozing with potential and radiating with light in their lives. Then, one day, like a candle that had been blown out with one swift breath, she was gone. Her essence collapsed into a darkened void of nothingness. In the morning, it was as if she never existed. Tony was the one that found her remains in her crib. Her corpse was brittle to the touch. The warmth of what was her soul bled through her bones and out of her skin forming her into a stiff, grey, lifeless being. Her tiny eyes were open, vacant, filled with the hollow memories of what once was. Tony’s shrieks of anguish echoed through the hallways and bounced off of the insides of Steve’s mind for days. 

 

Tony was never the same after that. 

 

He blamed himself as if he could’ve known or prevented it. For a while, Morgan’s room stayed in tact. Not a single item was moved or misplaced since she left. It was difficult getting back into a sense of normalcy. Whenever Steve and Tony would stand in her room together no words were spoken between them. It was a comforting silence. The thought of eventually clearing out her room caused them the most heart ache. Until eventually, Steve gave it a try. Piece by piece the heavier the box got, the lighter he felt. The lighter _they_ felt. Unused Toys, unworn clothes, and her deathbed were all sealed and packed away. He and Tony didn’t want to throw them away. They could never do that. It was apart of them. All they wanted to do was take one last look, and then put it where it belongs. Steve wanted to donate them. Maybe someone else out there had a child who was fortunate enough to use them. Tony, on the other hand, refused. He put them in the basement. Carefully stacked and handled with care. Morgan Stark. 

 

It took Tony a few years to agree to raise another kid. He didn’t trust himself. The hole left in his chest was filled with uncertainty for the future. It brought more fears and it plagued his mind and his heart with doubt. Doubt in himself and his ability to be good. Doubt in his ability to have a legacy. A purpose to have something, someone, bigger than himself. With the help of time, most of his wounds healed. Not completely, but enough.

 

Steve gazed fondly down at Peter. His breaths were gentle, easy, painless. In and out. _Their_ Peter. _Their_ boy. Even sleeping, he looked so much like Tony. It made sense though. Peter was his biological son after all. 

 

Peter’s biological mother was a surrogate. It was difficult to decide who exactly would be the biological father for him. It was a _‘tough’_ debate to put it kindly. Steve knew that he had weak genes on his mother’s side. As a child he often got sick. He was fortunate that it went away as he got older, but other members on his mother’s side of the family weren’t. Tony, on the other hand, refused because he knew he was genetically dispositioned to alcoholism. He didn’t want to curse Peter with that. He didn’t want that to be his legacy.  

 

After months of deciding beforehand, they eventually came to a consensus that the responsibility would fall on Tony. With that, they hoped to teach Peter about his specific dangers to alcohol and what lurked in his genes by the time he turned twenty one. But, Steve guessed that with the way his son’s life played out…  there would really be no need, would there?

 

Steve gave Peter’s hand a slight squeeze. His grip was loose, but yet firm. It wasn’t too tight. His hand was protecting Peter’s but in a liberating way such that if he woke up, he could pull his hand away whenever he wanted to with ease. Even in a jacket and under a heavy blanket, his hand was still freezing. Steve leaned in and rubbed Peter’s backside for a little while hoping to warm him up as best he could. He knew his son was in a lot of pain. To put it simply, he wasn’t happy. He was _tired_. No matter how hard Peter tried to hide it or how many times he tried to lie and say that he was okay, Steve saw through the façade. His son was trying his best as all of them were. As all of them had been for the past ten years. But, after the prolonged agony Peter was often forced to come to terms with, Steve knew that he was exhausted. He could see it in his eyes.

 

Steve believed Peter when he said that everything hurt. That his _life_ hurt. Steve wanted him to know that it was okay if Peter finally rested. It was time for him to finally rest. After everything he had been through, he deserved that. This wasn’t because Steve wanted to see his son die. God knows that was the last thing he’s ever wanted. He wanted his son to live. But, living is different than existing. And Peter, for the last decade, had just been existing. Steve knew that it wasn’t about himself or what he wanted. It was about Peter. He wanted this. His son wanted the pain to go away and, at the end of the day, that was all Steve ever wanted for him too. 

 

He then let Peter go. He carefully removed his hand from Peter’s before leaning in and placing a soft kiss on his forehead. Steve stood and used the moonlight to guide himself to the door. He took one last grateful look at Peter who was finally resting in peace and finally at ease with himself and his body. The blond then, with his head held high, took a deep breath in and faced forward. He refused to allow himself to look back or down. He had to look straight ahead. He exhaled, closing the door as quietly as he opened it. 

 

Steve went to his and Tony’s bedroom and wasn’t surprised to find the bed empty. He knew his husband was downstairs working late most likely. He did that whenever he was stressed. With that thought, the fire from before returned. He crossed his arms over his chest and took another deep breath in. Silently, he went down the stairs to the dining room. He laid eyes on his husband, who was sitting at the table flipping the pages of a book. Steve froze from the bottom of the steps. Was it fear? Guilt? 

 

Tony glanced up at him for a split second before turning back to his work. His facial expression hardened as his body tightened. Steve continued staring. There was nothing more he wanted than to make things right. He had to. With timid steps, he went towards Tony and stood before him like a child being punished for bad behavior.

 

“Tony.” Steve spoke. His voice wasn’t demanding anything. It was pleading. 

 

The blond watched as Tony let out a quiet sigh. “Steve.” He replied emotionlessly. He didn’t remove his eyes from his papers. 

 

Steve pulled up one of the chairs and sat with his back straight, face forward. “Can we…  talk?” 

 

Tony clenched his jaw briefly before speaking, “We already did, remember?”

 

“We…  didn’t finish.” 

 

“I’m trying to finish my work.” Tony’s dark eyes shot up. In them, Steve could see the concoction of the boiling, bloody rage trapped underneath. “Do _you_ mind?”

 

“Give me a chance to explain.”

 

“Explain?” Tony's voice raised into a condescending-like shock. “What is there to explain, exactly?”

 

He slammed his book shut and dropped it on the table with a loud thump. “You want to explain… how you _left_ ?” His voice was sharp enough to cut and his once emotionless facial features glowered. The wrath was bubbling, cooking, and starting to overflow. Steve could feel it. “When your own _son_ needed you?”

 

In return, Steve’s face was sullen. “I didn’t… I didn’t intend to stay out that long.”  

 

“You didn’t intend?” His husband’s voice rose. “ _Intend_? What got in the way of you coming back, Steve? Hmm? Was James’ bed warmer than ours?”

 

Steve dropped his eyes to the floor and closed them for a few beats. He clenched his jaw and shook his head. “There’s something else, Tony.”

 

“Someone else.” He heard him scoff. He folded his arms and turned away. 

 

Worried blue eyes gazed up, “No, Tony. There’s something else. There’s something going on… with you. What is it? Tell me.”

 

Tony’s eyes, for a millisecond, had a glint of fear. They were pained before they hardened back to their usual expressionless and bitter state. “There’s nothing going on with me.” He spoke unforgivingly, “I’m going upstairs.”

 

With those words, he shot up from his chair and was on his way. Unfortunately, he didn’t get very far. Steve gently took his wrist to keep him from moving. “Tony.” He said quietly. “ Why have you stopped taking your anxiety medication?”

 

Tony ripped his arm away and turned to Steve. He held it to his chest like he had suffered a grave injury. He didn’t say anything. All he did was hold his arm and stare. 

 

Steve took the opportunity to stand too, hesitantly and slowly. “I was in the room and…  I found the prescription… the untouched prescription from… three months ago, Tony… _Three_ months. Why didn’t you tell me?”

 

“Why do you care, Steve?”

 

“Have they stopped working? What’s going on with you?” Steve put a supportive hand on his arm and rubbed it softly with his thumb. He noticed his husband weakly lowered his head to stare at it. His unreadable expression made the pit of worry in Steve’s stomach worse. He closed the gap between him and his husband and put his other hand on his arm. He, once again, made small supportive circles with his thumbs that trailed on the fabric of his shirt. “Please, talk to me.”

 

“I’m fine, Steve.” Tony said quietly. He hid his face, keeping his gaze to the floor.

 

“Hon… ” Steve rubbed his sides with a reassuring delicance. It was a gesture that required no words. The purpose was to comfort Tony and let him know that he was safe, always. “Tomorrow, I’m going to make an appointment, alright? I will take you to your psychiatrist and-”

 

“No!” Tony shouted and yanked himself away. His face morphed into an alarmed melting pot of shock, confusion, and anger all at once. “I don’t need them! I never needed them!”

 

“I’m…” His volume lowered and the despondency loomed under his eyelids. He turned back to the floor. “I’m fine…  without them.”

 

“Are you?”

 

In that instant, Tony’s previous emotion vanished. A darkly expression swallowed his once gentle features. “Why _wouldn’t_ I be?” He had his lips pressed together into an anxious snarl.

 

“Tony…” Steve was faint, he didn’t want to fight. He dropped his hands to his sides. “You know why you take them. Your psychiatrist said-”

 

“It doesn’t matter what he said, Steve!”  

 

Steve sighed and rubbed his temple. His chest hung low with exhaustion as he shook his head. He didn’t want to fight. _Not_ tonight. “We can get you a new prescription. We can… we can try a different medication if those don’t work for you anymore. You can’t just… stop taking them.”

 

“Yes _I_ can, and _I_ will. I don’t need them.” Tony was strong as he crossed his arms, “I am going to bed.”

 

“No… no… no… Tony, stop, stop.” Steve hurried to put himself in front of his husband before he could leave the room. The domineering brown eyes didn’t wander to the floor like they had previously. The were piercing and bold, silently telling Steve to back off. 

 

“Why won’t you talk to me about this?” Steve could feel the heat of his own frustration rise like hot air to his head. He tried to shake it off. He needed to keep a clear mind. He needed to stay focused on what _he_ wanted. He wanted Tony to talk to him. He didn’t want to fight. “You’ve gotta… you’ve gotta talk to me.” 

 

“Read my lips, Steve.” Tony’s words slithered quickly off his tongue, “We’re _done_ with this conversation.”

 

“Not until you tell me why you stopped taking them and why you tried to hide it from me!”

 

The accidental intensity of Steve’s words set off the trigger he had been trying to avoid. All of Tony’s insides exploded into a catastrophic booming tear inducing mayhem. “DON’T YOU DARE TRY TO TURN THIS ON ME! WHO CARES ABOUT THE FUCKING PILLS, STEVE!?” His breath staggered and his petite body trembled before Steve, more than it ever had been. 

 

“You want to know why I’m upset!?” Tony was essentially choking on his tears as his voice broke. “You’re not here anymore! You’re never here!”

 

Steve stood silently. Soon after, his eyes started watering too. 

 

“You weren’t _here_ when Peter got pneumonia. He needed you. Peter…  needed… _you_ . God…” Tony let out a quiet whimper as he tried to collect himself. He shook his head, exhaling a few shaky breaths. He kept to himself until he finally looked up wide-eyed, terrified, and hurt. “His doctor thought… Peter thought… even _I_ thought that he wasn’t going to make it. All he wanted…  was to see you… one last time. He wouldn’t… he wouldn’t stop…”

 

Tony shook his head again and allowed himself to cry. His anguish was the final straw that made Steve’s tears lose their strength and fall from his eyes,  “E-Every single day he was… he was in the hospital… he wouldn’t stop asking _me…_  where _you_ were. I… I… and I didn’t have an answer for him. Don’t you… don’t you understand?”

 

The guilt wrapped its hands around Steve’s throat and stole his ability to speak. He couldn’t bear to look at Tony. He found himself staring at the floor.

 

“I-I-I couldn’t tell him where his own father was!” Tony yelled through his sobs, “And the way he looked at me, Steve!? The way he cried…  for you!? You’ll… never _ever_ know what that feels like!”

 

As more cries escaped Tony’s lips, his voice simmered back down to the pool of moroseness. “I had…  no idea where you were and you refused to return any of my calls or my messages… I didn’t know if you were… hurt…  or … _dead_. When I was alone, I thought… I thought I had lost you… and I thought I was going to lose Peter too. Do you have any idea what I went through?”

 

“Tony, I… I didn’t know.”

 

“You didn’t know? Of course you didn’t.” Tony’s sniffled again as he blinked away his excess tears. “You weren’t here.”  

 

With each movement Steve made, his strength seeped from his kneecaps. He put his hands on Tony’s shoulders. As he trembled, uneasy feelings filled him with an uncertain dread for the future. He didn’t know. He would never know. “Tony…” The blond tried, “I never… I never meant to put you…  and Peter through that… I’m trying… to be better… I’m sorry. Please… give me a chance.”

 

“How am I supposed to give you another chance when I can’t even trust you enough to stay?” Tony was a bit calmer now, but still mellow and saddened that he was still almost silent. His eyes did a poor job of hiding the thoughts swirling through his head. Doubt, fear, and most of all uncertainty in himself and the future. “I needed you... Don’t you understand? I needed you. I needed _you…_ and you weren’t there. You didn’t come back home.”

 

“God, Steve.” Tony let out a broken sigh and turned his head away, somewhat ashamed. “I needed, _you_.”

 

“I’m here. I’m here, Tony. I’m here. I’m here and…  I love you and Peter… more than anything in this world.” Steve attempted to bring his lips in for a kiss, but Tony moved his own farther away than they already were. It didn’t take long for him to start trying to squirm out of Steve’s grasp. The blonde didn’t stop though. He pulled Tony closer and laid sweet kisses on his cheek before trailing them across his damp face. 

 

“No…no… no… ” Tony murmured as he continued to turn his head away. He was struggling to loosen the grip. “Steve… no… stop… ”

 

“Hon... ” Steve held his husband’s face in his hands and gently fought his resistance to face him. “Please Tony...” 

 

“No…” He found a way to push Steve away from him. He stood visibly shaking. His eyes laced with hurt and his face filled with an isolating sorrow, “You’re not…  listening to me… you never listen to me.”

 

“W-”

 

“I never said _need_ . I said _needed_ , as in past tense. That trumps what you came for. What _you_ need. It's too late.” In a way it was unforgiving as if his eyes disowned Steve on the spot. The fragile remains of his tears from before were wiped away as his body found a new sense of power, control, _Individualism._

 

“None of this would’ve happened if _you_ had… listened to _me_.” Tony’s eyes manifested themselves into a frigid bitterness. It matched the sound of his voice and the aura that he gave off. Steve could feel it again, the fury. 

 

“I remember telling you that what we _needed_ was to stay together no matter how bad the arguments got because it's not about us! It’s _NEVER_ been about us! It shouldn’t matter if we can’t even stand each other because Peter… needs… the both of us. That's what we all _needed_.” 

 

Steve took a breath remembering how bad things were. How bad the arguments got, how loud they yelled at each other, and how he was sure that Peter could hear them. He shook his head, “It wasn’t… it wasn’t that simple, Tony.”

 

“And when we got married… when we… when we had Morgan… when we got Peter… you promised me, _‘together’_ , didn’t you?” Like a champagne bottle, Tony popped and his words started pouring out. As they oozed with abandonment his breath started to hitch again. This time, it wasn’t because of the tears. It was from what Steve had seen too many times prior, panic. “You promised… you promised me… you promised _me_ that we would stay together!  Don’t you remember!?” 

 

“But guess what, Steve? You left! You left me when you promised me you wouldn’t! You fucking left so many times… too many… too many to even think about. You have done this to me again, again, and again! Now, I’m raising _our_ kid alone and sometimes…  I don’t even know if I’m doing any of this shit right!” Tony’s tremors exponentially got worse and his breathing became more of a chore and it rapidly tired him out. Steve watched as his chest staggered between every sentence, every word. 

 

“You were… you were the _one_ person who wasn’t supposed to go! _You_ were… you were supposed to be here to…  help me! Always and forever, right Steve!?” Tony yelled in a desperate voice. Then, His eyes widened as he dropped his head into one of his hands. His chest refused to rest as his lungs struggled to steal a breath of air and keep it in. “I… oh … I… my god…  I…”

 

Steve rushed over and put his hands on Tony’s side, gently guiding him to one of the dining room seats, “Tony, breathe... You’re okay. Try to calm down.” 

 

“Don’t tell me to calm down!”

 

“Tony,” Steve continued as he pleaded for Tony to work with him, “Sit… sit… sit… please try to sit for me.”

 

Tony, instead, got out of his grasp and stumbled forward. “NO!” He screamed, the tremors overwhelmed his body and his chest, “Get… get away from me!”

 

Steve took one step closer, “Tony I’m not going to hurt you-”

 

“Don’t fucking touch me!”

 

Steve jolted back and held his hands up defensively, “Okay, Tony, okay.” He spoke softly.  “I won’t touch you. Okay? I’m not going to touch you. All I need for you to do… is breathe. Remember the breathing exercises we used to do? We-”

 

“No! Stop, just stop! Stop speaking! Stop speaking to me like that!” Tony had one hand on his chest and the other resting on the counter. As he struggled to breathe his gripped it tightly to keep himself from collapsing. “You don’t… you don’t get to tell me what…  to do. You… you don’t get to… decide how I feel anymore. I won’t let you. I refuse.”

 

His breathing hitched as Steve watched his husband’s bottom lip started to quake once again. Tony was shaking and from where Steve was standing he appeared to be _smaller_ , smaller than when he last remembered him to be. “I won’t… I won’t…  live like this and Peter won’t either.” He whispered his words with his shattered voice. Defeated. Exhausted. “You’re a liar, Steve... You’re a liar and… and I don’t trust you anymore.” 

 

“Tony-”

 

And then, Tony came closer, still out of breath. “H-Here,” He ripped off his ring and shoved it into Steve’s hand. “Take this… just take it. ” He commanded, “Put it on, trash it, give it… give it to someone else… It doesn’t matter.”

 

“I don’t… I don’t have enough… enough…  energy to care anymore.”

 

In that moment, Steve couldn’t feel his body. His gaze bounced at the ring in his hand and then to Tony before coming back to the ring. He gasped when his chest burned with the painful reminder to breathe. “N-No…no… ” Was all he mustered out. “No… Tony… no… I… you… we-” 

 

He took Tony’s left hand and tried to slide the ring back on but Tony shook his head trying to pull himself away. His lips quaked even more as his eyes started to water. Gradually, his knees started buckling from under him.  “No…no… no…” Tony was choking on them, “L-Let go… go of me… let me.. go let … me go…” 

 

“Tony, no…” Steve replied, his voice was in a desperate panic. ”Put it back on, Tony! Put it back on! We’ll talk… we can work it out… we can…  talk.”

 

“No… no… Steve…” Tony whimpered into his chest before giving in to his body’s demands which caused him to collapse onto the floor. Steve took this chance to slide the ring and hold Tony’s body tight in his. He wouldn’t let go. “Tony… please… talk to me. Please…  talk to me. Tell me… what's wrong. Tell… me where it hurts.”

 

“I-I feel… I feel…  so alone…” Tony tried to hold back his sobs but was ultimately failing. “And… and y-you’re not here for me…  like you used to be and I know it’s… because… it’s because you… you don’t w-want… to be.”

 

“Honey… that’s not true… I want you.” Steve brought his lips to Tony’s hand and kissed it selfishly over and over again, “I love you... Only... you. It’s…  just you, Tony. All… of you.”

 

His husband’s voice then went cold, again. It was hollow, void. _Accepting_. “You’re a liar, Steve…  And I don’t trust you anymore.” 

 

“I… I… Tony… I-”

 

“I want you to leave.” Tony blurted. He sounded surprised he said that too.

 

“What? No… You… Peter… I…” 

 

With feeble shakes of the hands, Tony slipped one out of Steve’s grasp and used the other to remove the ring. He, once again, put it inside of Steve’s hand. “I am… asking you… to leave.” This time, he sounded more confident.

 

Steve held Tony, his _entire_ world, tighter. He put his lips on Tony’s, but this time he didn’t move his head away or resist. He allowed Steve to kiss him but didn’t return the gesture. He remained as still as a statue. Against his odds, the blonde continued kissing as if it could bring the love back.

 

He continued as if it could bring the spark. 

 

He continued as if he could change Tony’s mind.

 

 “No… no… no… I love you…  Tony. You and Peter… are my everything… no you can’t…I love you.”

 

“No, you don’t.” Tony’s voice went numb. “And… it’s okay, Steven. I get it now. I understand... I am not mad anymore. It’s… okay.”

 

“Hon-”

 

Tony had taken Steve’s advice to calm down. Now, he was in a clear state of mind. The clearest he had been in a while. “I don’t want to see you in the morning.” He spoke.

 

The reality of the situation was starting to set in. All Steve did, all he _could_ do was grasp onto Tony’s tiny body for dear life. “Please… don’t… don’t do this.” 

 

“I don’t…  want Peter to see you…  either.” 

 

_‘Peter. Oh, God. Peter.’_

 

Tony let out one final breath before he spoke again. “I want you gone, Steve.”

 

“ _Go_.”

 

**. . .**

 

When Peter woke up the next morning, he was surprised that he actually felt _good_. Last night was the first night in a while where he slept the whole way through. Since Steve came back, they’ve spent nearly every single second together. They caught up on the things that they have missed in each other's lives. Peter filled him in about his new school and the classes he would be taking while Steve spoke about Bucky and Sam. Bucky was still managing his own coffee shop back in Brooklyn while Sam continued his work at the support group for veterans. Peter asked Steve when he would be able to see them again, but his dad couldn’t really give him an answer. Peter remembered spending time with them when he was younger before…  Skip happened. 

 

Peter didn’t really see anyone anymore after Skip happened. 

 

He shook his head, ignoring it. He wasn’t going to think about _it_ today. He wasn’t going to think about _him_ today. Peter threw his feet over the bed and lifted up the handle of his oxygen tank. As it trailed quietly behind him, he went into the bathroom. He changed his cannula and freshened up as quickly as he could. Last night, Steve promised him that they would be able to go to MoMA. It was a really cool art museum Peter had been wanting to visit for the past few months. He was excited to finally use the camera that Tony had gotten for him a long while ago.

 

Over time, Peter had come to realize that Tony wasn’t much for public spaces and similar things in that category. His father wasn’t the one that took him out as much as Steve did. Maybe Tony did when he was a kid, but after he had gotten cancer, everything stopped. The only place he had been with Tony besides a hospital was his company, Stark industries.

 

Peter looked at himself in the mirror and brushed his hair. He was thankful Steve was taking him out today. He had been cooped up inside for weeks. Not that he minded _that_ much, he was used to it. After all, it had essentially been his life for the last decade. Today, Peter hoped, was the start of something new. He was eager to go outside and see the art and learn about the history behind it. His eyes would feast on the endless knowledge available before him. It was different than reading about something online. In person, he could touch it. He could feel it. He could _live_. Then, he planned to capture all of it on his camera, every single moment and then make some art himself. He hoped to savor today as he wished that one day, just like the artists before him, he could make something meaningful that would last well after he’s gone. 

 

He put the brush down and ran some of his hands through his hair. He took one good look at himself and exhaled. He was going out in public, was he not? The least he could do was make himself look somewhat presentable. Maybe, he would be able to talk to someone too? Maybe he could make a friend. He felt the dread simmer in his stomach with that thought. Would Tony be mad at him for it? 

 

Like a giddy child on the morning of christmas day, he dashed carefully down the steps restraining himself so he wouldn’t trip. Before he reached the bottom, he called out his dad’s name. Peter walked towards the living room expecting to see Steve sitting down reading a newspaper like he usually does, but instead the boy was greeted with emptiness. He called out Steve’s name again as he made his way to the dining room. Once again, he was expecting to see Steve, perhaps, sitting at the dining room table drinking some coffee.  But, the boy was proven incorrect by the absence of the blonde, once again. 

 

When Peter peered nervously into the kitchen, he noticed Tony. The lights were dimmed such that his father resembled a silhouette. An ominous type figure that Peter would sometimes see in the darkness in his room. His father stood tall and was still, frozen even. The boy’s eyes went to the left when he noticed that the faucet was still running. 

 

He tightened his grip on his tank as he made his way into the kitchen. “Dad?” Peter kept his voice down. He didn’t want to accidentally startle his father. “Dad?” He tried again, this time resting his hand on his father’s tense shoulder. After the silent seconds that took too slow to pass, Tony turned. He put down the things he had in his hands before pulling Peter into a hug. He fit into his father’s body perfectly. 

 

Tony wasn’t saying anything which is what made the uncertainty in Peter’s chest bother him the most. The boy carefully wrapped his arms around him and felt that his back was as tense as his shoulders. Peter stood there, like the fragile helpless child he was, unsure what he could do or say. All he wondered was where Steve was and hoped that maybe he could slay the beasts causing Tony pain.

 

Peter felt Tony deliver a heavy kiss on his face before pulling away. The boy looked up at his somber eyes and could easily tell that whatever was bothering him refused to let him have a few silent hours of peace during the night. 

 

“Are… you okay, Dad?” Peter knew it was a rhetorical question. 

 

Tony pressed his shaking hand to the side of Peter’s cheek, cupping it lightly. He held it for a little bit before squeezing it in the slightest. He gazed down at his son and let out a wavering smile. “I always am, baby.” His voice was pained, “I always am.”  

 

Peter stared up, concerned. “Where is… where’s Pa?”

 

Then, Tony removed his hand and gave the sink his attention instead. He took his time turning it off, obviously delaying the inevitable. 

 

“Dad-”

 

“Go, Peter. Sit.” He spoke, gesturing lazily to the dining room table. “Your breakfast is almost ready.”

 

Peter didn’t put up a fuss or question it. The doubt crawling up from the pit of his stomach convinced him that his question had already been answered. He sat down with hollow eyes and the ache in his chest once again. The ache that was Steve’s gift to him whenever he… _left_. 

 

Whenever…  he was gone.

 

_‘No, he wasn’t. He promised.’_

 

“Make sure you try to finish all of it…” Tony said as he placed the bowl of food in front of Peter. “You need to eat to build up your strength… for school.” The oatmeal looked like it had been out for a while and the strawberries were lazily tossed on top. Only one was cut in half while the others were still full and had their leaves attached. 

 

Peter’s only friend, the harrowing manifestation of his loneliness, began to whisper its hideous vexes in his ear. It repeated all of the terrible thoughts he had the day Steve came back. It whispered his biggest fears and somehow, it managed to whisper things about Tony too. Peter blinked back his tears and willed Steve’s words from his memories to cast out the demon that was in his mind. 

 

“He’s coming back.” Peter said. He tried his best to keep his voice strong. 

 

Tony didn’t say anything when he went to the kitchen. All he did was poured himself a drink and brought it restlessly to his lips. He had his back towards his son. 

 

Peter’s breath wavered, “He…  promised.” 

 

Tony, again, refused to speak. All he did was drink. It didn’t take long until he poured himself another glass.

 

“Dad-”

 

“ _Finish_ your food.” Those words came out much sharper than Tony intended. 

 

Peter cowered in his chair as he gave his strawberries his attention. He picked up a spoon and made the smallest of them dance in his bowl. He refused to cry.

 

“Pa… Pa and I are going to MoMA today.” Peter was faint, “He promised me…  last night.” 

 

His father opened the medicine cabinet and took out some melatonin. He popped them into his mouth like they were sweet pieces of candy. It didn’t take long before he washed them down and his sorrows with the aid of his drink. 

 

“Is that okay with you, Dad?”  Peter asked, once again. He fiddled with the strawberry. “I-I… don’t know if… if Steve told you.”

 

The last drop of alcohol stained Tony’s lips. With care, he placed the glass down on the counter. He stood, out of body, his head towards the floor for a while. Peter watched. Had his father heard him? Had his father heard anything he had just said? Then, slowly but surely, his head came back into his body. His chest stole a quick, but feeble breath before he dragged his feet towards the dining room. Towards Peter. 

 

The tears huddled together in Peter’s eyes as he looked up. Tony wasn’t looking at him. His empty eyes stared at the front door. “Eat as much as you can for me, baby.” He sounded detached. He was on autopilot. Then, with mechanical motions, he kissed Peter’s forehead but not in the way he did in the kitchen, not even the way before. He did it in a way that was forced. He shut his eyes, pressing them together in pain. When the kiss landed on Peter’s skin, so did Tony’s tears. 

 

After a few moments, Tony hurried to wipe his tears off of Peter’s face. He wiped all of them away. 

 

“Going upstairs for a little bit.” With those words, he turned away and went to the grand staircase. Peter wanted to call out for him but instead his mouth fumbled with the beginnings of the words that he wanted to say. All he did was sit there like the fragile, helpless, powerless child he was, and stare in silence. 

 

When Tony disappeared from sight, the boy looked back at his strawberries. He stared at the one that was cut open. He stared at it for a long while as his cries fell into his food. Remembering Steve’s words, his aura of hope, he wiped them away with his jacket sleeve. Steve wouldn't go back on his word. This was the man who taught Peter how to be good, how to be gentle, and how to be kind. His morals influenced Peter in many ways, more than he could count. With that said, Steve wasn’t like this, he didn’t lie. He wasn’t a liar. 

 

He was coming back.

 

Peter guessed that maybe…  he left something at Bucky’s place all the way in Brooklyn. Perhaps he didn’t leave too long ago either? That must’ve been why Tony was in the kitchen, right? They probably talked before he left? And who knows, maybe with traffic, it might take Steve a little longer to get home? But no matter how long it took, he was coming back. He said he would. He promised. 

 

Peter shoved a bite of his cold oatmeal into his mouth. He chewed quickly. Steve was probably going to come back soon, he was sure of it. He knew he needed to eat before he left to go see the museum. Steve would want him to.  Finishing his last strawberry, he stood and grabbed the handle on his oxygen tank. With heavy steps he went into the kitchen and put his bowl into the sink. 

 

A dull noise came into his ear. He whipped his head to the door. Was it Steve? He waited for a while expecting to hear the jingle of keys and the lock click. Quietly and vigilantly he stood like Tony did. After a few moments of a disappointing silence, he left the kitchen. The hallways of the mansion resembled the gloominess and the chill of a lonely, underground tunnel. Peter sat down on the couch in the living room and stared at the TV. It wasn’t on. Peter just stared at his reflection.

 

He stared at it for a long while.

 

When he awoke, he felt a gentle hand nudging his shoulder. He focused on the figure kneeling in front of him as his eyes tried to blink the blur from his vision. He woke up a little earlier during the day to eat some lunch before planting himself back on the couch. Somehow, he didn’t remember falling asleep again. The sun was now gone. 

 

‘ _Steve?_ ’

 

“Kiddo,” Tony spoke. He was quiet as he patted his shoulder. “C’mon, I made dinner for you.”

 

Peter sat up and used a hand to brush the hair out of his face. He gazed sleepily around in the dark room for someone else. _Anyone_ else besides Tony. Yet, he found nothing in the endless darkness. It didn’t take long for his breathing to begin to stagger.

 

“Kid? You okay?”

 

“S-Steve…” Peter asked,  “Where’s Steve…? Why isn’t he here yet?”

 

Tony clenched his jaw. When he stood, he carefully pulled Peter off of the couch. Arms wrapped around his son’s shoulders, he guided them back into the dining room.  “I made you some dinner, baby, come on.”

 

“But…  he promised… he promised.”

 

“I made you some soup.” His father replied as his gaze was kept forward. He rubbed Peter’s shoulder and held him close as he let his head rest in the nape of his neck. “It’ll make you feel better. Come.”

 

“Okay...”

 

Peter sat down and wiped his eyes with his sleeve as he sniffled. Since Steve didn’t come back today, he would be back tomorrow, right? _Right_ . Peter was sure of it. He promised they would go to MoMA before school started and they still had some time left. Today was only one set back. _One_. Tomorrow, things were going to go back to normal. All Peter hoped was that wherever Steve was, he was safe. 

 

Peter picked up his spoon and swirled around his soup. He made a tiny whirlpool and watched the bits of vegetables and meat get sucked in. He put a spoonful into his mouth. It warmed him up. It didn’t take long for the sound of a large _clunk_ to rip him away from his food, his warmth. His father opened a new bottle of alcohol. The light brown liquid filled the glass halfway. The ice cubes clinked around and chilled the drink. Peter watched and wondered why Tony drank in the first place. Did it make him feel good? Happy? He stared curiously at the bottle.

 

Maybe if it worked for Tony, it could work for him too. 

 

**. . .**

 

Peter’s fingers pressed harder onto the piano keys.

 

Another day, another mistake. It seemed like that was all he could do right. A day or two had passed since Steve had… since he wasn’t here anymore. Peter sighed and restarted his piece from the beginning. He didn’t get very far before he paused, again. He shut his eyes and exhaled slowly. It was taking everything he had to keep the anger he had fuming at bay. Why was Tony acting as if nothing happened? Better yet, why didn't his parents just… talk it out? Why did Steve have to leave every time things got bad? 

 

His fingers pressed even harder onto the keys.

 

His parents had been on his mind for the past couple days and it was driving him insane. He couldn’t comprehend why they always had to fight. Why did it always resort to them yelling? Why couldn’t he have one… normal day with both of his parents not at each other's throats? It wasn’t fair. 

 

He groaned and brought his hands to his face. Why didn’t life ever work out?

 

_“Peter?”_

 

He moved his head towards the direction of the sound and saw Tony standing in the doorway with a drink in his hand. He looked tired. Even more so than usual. With the guilt lingering in his bones, he got rid of his frustrated feelings from before. It was clear that Tony was hurting too, perhaps even more than he was. 

 

“Hi, Dad.” Peter said.

 

Tony frowned a little, “What's the matter?”

 

The boy sighed, “Nothing. Nothing is a matter, Dad.”

 

His father sat next to him on the leather bench and rested his drink on top of the piano. “Let me help you.” He offered as he took the sheet music off the stand. He cocked his head to the side before putting it back, “You’ve played this before. What’s going on?”

 

Peter slouched into his seat as he found it difficult to look into his father’s eyes. “I can’t…  concentrate.”

 

“What are you thinking about?”

 

“Nothing.” Peter shook his head.

 

“You can and should _always_ tell me what’s on your mind.” Tony spoke, he didn’t take his eyes off of Peter. 

 

His son, once again, shook his head and shrugged. He didn’t look up. “Honestly, Dad. Its nothing.”

 

Tony wrapped his arm around Peter’s shoulder before giving it a reassuring squeeze. “It’s only me, Kid. I’m here for you. You can tell me.”

 

Peter took the opportunity to drop his head onto his father’s chest. He hesitated for a while as he listened to the steady heart beat. The only constant in his life. “Can’t you… can’t you call him?” His voice was innocent. He sounded like a small child. “Tell him… tell him to come home?”

 

With those words, he felt his father tense and his heartbeat spike. He reached for his drink and took a long, _long_ sip. “It’s…  not that simple.” He murmured into his glass.

 

“If you won’t talk to him… can I?” Peter looked up. He was sure he sounded pathetic and needy, but he didn’t really care. He needed _him_ . He needed to hear _his_ voice. “Please?” 

 

Tony pulled himself away and stood, “No, Kiddo.” His voice was firm. There was no room for negotiation but that didn’t mean Peter wouldn’t try anyway. It was all he could do. 

 

“I don’t understand.” Peter could feel the chill of evasive loneliness consume him when Tony moved away and took his warmth with him. He was pleading. Not only to see Steve, but for Tony to come back too. “Why, Dad? Can’t we all… be together again… and talk? Like we used to?”

 

“ _Peter_ ,” Tony’s eyes hung low. They glowered, warning him silently. His voice was quick to dismiss Peter’s previous demands. “ _Not_ today, you understand?” 

 

The boy dropped his gaze to the white piano keys. He realized he made the mistake of poking the bear. His fault. Always _his_ fault. He watched solemnly as Tony walked over towards the doorway before standing in it for a few beats. He exhaled and dropped his shoulders in defeat before turning back around.

 

“Kid, I’m sorry.” 

 

Peter didn’t look up. His fingers tapped lightly on the keys. “You didn’t do anything wrong, Dad.” He said quietly.

 

Tony sat himself back on the bench. “How about we do something today, you and I?” His voice was lighter and a bit more enthusiastic than before. Peter could tell he was smiling and he hadn’t seen that happen in a few days. Slowly, a tiny one came onto his lips too. He really liked it when his father was happy. 

 

His father continued, smiling down at him. “Would you like that?” 

 

Peter shifted his body towards Tony. He had on a smile of a thousand suns that made his loneliness fade away. It wasn’t completely gone, but it was getting easier to ignore in that moment. “Can we please go outside?” The young boy’s eyes radiated with glee. 

 

His father then stopped smiling. He didn’t frown, but his lips formed a displeased grimace as he tried to hide his confusion. “ _Outside_?” His voice was demanding Peter to explain himself.

 

Peter took his father’s hands and was bubbling over with joy. He let his enthusiasm and excitement spur the confidence in his words, “Well, I was… I was really _really_ hoping we could go to MoMa today.” He said, “And… and we could take a lot of pictures… so many pictures… and talk to some people, too! I… I-I still have the camera you got me and… I don’t use it as much as I want to. I remember Stev-” 

 

He sunk himself into his chair as his childlike giddiness dissolved. “I just… remember wanting to go… for a really long time.” He whispered. 

 

“You know what Peter?” Tony finally spoke up. He was as soft as before. “I’m actually feeling a little bit…  tired. How about you play something for me. How does that sound?” 

 

“But-”

 

Tony silenced him gently. “Play something for me, and then we’ll talk, okay?”

 

“Okay.” Peter nodded innocently. He watched Tony go over and lie on the beige loveseat. He motioned his head in a way that let Peter know that he was ready to listen whenever he was ready to play. 

 

He put his fingers into position to play the same piece from before. He exhaled and pressed down. His anger and his eagerness were like a battery that fueled his concentration. When the music became harder and coarser he thought about his parents yelling at each other, leaving each other, and leaving him. When the music became lighter and more intimate, Peter thought about eventually everything being alright one day. They would all finally be happy together. One day. Hopefully soon. 

 

When he was finished, he smoothly lifted his hands off of the keys. He paused, staring down at them before he looked back at Tony. His father sat, smiling. He was proud and Peter could see it cascading out of his eyes. “I knew you could do it, baby. That was amazing.”

 

“Thank you, Dad.” Peter said, “It… it means a lot. It really does.” He sat idly biting his lip for a few seconds before he spoke up again. “Do you think it’s okay… if we talk now?”

 

Tony’s glimmer fell as he stood up confident and firm. “My answer is no.”

 

Peter felt the ache in his chest, once again, “But, you said that-”

 

His father put his hand up, silencing him once again, “I said that we would talk, and we just did. Weren’t you listening?”

 

“I-”

 

“My answer… is no.”

 

“But…” Peter was confused as he stumbled over his tongue. “Why? I don’t… I don’t understand?” 

 

“Oh, Peter,” Tony sighed, cocking his head to the side. ”It's too cold for you to be out this late, you know that.”

 

Peter stood and hurried closer to his father in a desperate rush to convince him. To get him to agree. “I can… I can put on a jacket! I’ll be okay! I’ll be just fine, Dad!”

 

Tony proceeded to do the same thing he always did. With a soothing motion, he cupped Peter’s face in his hands and stared down at him. “It's too late, baby... The sun will be setting soon.”

 

Peter brought his hands to grip Tony’s wrists. He held it gently, too. “In a few hours.” He said. He looked up, eyes pleading. 

 

Tony continued to keep Peter’s face in his hands, but not in a forceful way. It was protective, safe, and reassuring. “And have you forgotten that I still need to take you to your doctor’s appointment before school starts? You haven't gotten all of your shots yet. Especially the one to help your immune system, remember?”

 

“Yeah...” Peter dropped his head in surrender. He already lost this battle the second it started, “Yeah, I can remember.”

 

Tony gave him a light squeeze, “You don’t want to get sick, do you?” 

 

“Sicker than I already am!?” The frustration surged to Peter’s cheeks. With quick hands, he forced Tony away from him. His dark brown bore an excessive amount of defiance.

 

Tony blinked in shock as he stared eyes wide at Peter. 

 

“I’m dying, Dad! What difference is it going to make?!” Peter shouted. His chest soon started to crumble as his eyes begin to burn.  “What difference is _anything_ going to make anymore?!” 

 

“Peter,” Tony held up his finger and pointed at him. He furrowed his eyebrows and narrowed his eyes. “Don’t.” He commanded. 

 

“I _HATE_ MY LIFE!”

 

“ _Peter_ _Stark_ don’t you _dare_ say those words ever _again_ , do you understand me?” His father growled with his voice low, but not soft and gentle. It was menacing. Threatening in a way. 

 

Peter stood there with his eyes watering and lip quivering. The ache returned to his chest demanding to be let out with sobs. Instead, Peter suffered with the sandpaper in his throat to keep it in. He dropped his head and bit his tongue. Even after his father’s warning, there were a lot more things he needed to say. But, not now. All he wanted to do was cry. 

 

“Peter.” Tony closed the gap and rubbed his sides. His smooth voice was back to normal. “You know why you can’t say that...”

 

They boy said nothing as he cried silently where he stood. As the embarrassment consumed him, he turned to the floor for comfort.  

 

His father continued with his soft motions. He allowed his body to be the shield that Peter needed with a look in his eyes that was steady. It was urging Peter to trust him. Listen to him. Believe in him. “It’s only us now, Kiddo…  You’ve got to work with me. You have to.”

 

“Everything I do is to protect you and keep you safe. I can’t do that when you fight me like this…” His words swayed softly with his voice, “Your safety is my number one priority… it always has been.”

 

Peter kept his gaze away but absorbed every word. “I… know.” He murmured, finally speaking. He had already swallowed the impending onslaught of tears that threatened to wash him away. “I know. I’m sorry.” Tony didn’t deserve that. He didn’t need that right now. Peter felt the guilt eating away at his rotten core. How could he say that? How could he be so selfish? 

 

“You’re my everything, baby.” Tony was at ease. “I would give you…  the sun and the moon if I could.” 

 

“I know, Dad.” Peter said. His voice matched his father’s. “I know.” 

 

“You’re my everything.” Tony kissed his forehead and then stroked his hair. The loose curls fiddled between his fingers. “You’re my sun. My precious sunflower.”

 

Peter swallowed, blinking a couple times. “I know.” He said again, dropping his head. “I know.”

 

With a swift motion, Tony lifted Peter’s chin and expressed his fondness for him. A look of a thousand suns. “I thought of something we can do together.” Tony’s happiness continued resonating on his face as he spoke, “I bought you some new clothes for school not too long ago. Let’s go upstairs so you can try them on and we’ll see how they look on you? You’d love that. Right, Kiddo?”

 

Peter forced the same smile, mimicking it the best he could. “I would love that, Dad.”

 

**. . .**

 

Seven days.

 

School started in _seven_ days.

 

To Peter’s dismay he has spent the majority of it, as Tony says, “ _Getting a head start ”_ in his studies.  His father had already gotten him all of his textbooks and said that it was important for him to review the material beforehand. His reasoning was due to the fact that it would make it easier for him to adjust to his new classes without difficulty. Peter, on the other hand, felt different. He didn’t think it mattered how much review or preparation he did. He would never be ready for school or the classes he was going to take. After the strenuous rounds of chemotherapy during his adolescence, things up there were never the same. He knew he wasn’t as smart as he used to be. Sometimes it was hard, harder than it already was to concentrate. He felt as if there was a fog in his brain that never went away. 

 

He blinked, eyes burning. He had been doing calculus since breakfast and he was already on the seventh chapter. He made progress, sure, but at the cost of his back and his wrists. Sniffling, he closed the book and put his head down. He felt the cool surface of the book press against his cheek. When was Steve going to come back home? Peter, at this point, would give anything he had for him to come back. If God were real, and if he were listening, Peter _really_ wanted him to know that. 

 

_“Kid, it's me. Can I come in?”_

 

“Yeah, yes.” He said as he lifted his head and opened up his book. He didn’t want his father to see him not doing his work. Peter didn’t want to face his wrath, _again_. 

 

Tony came through the door and like the guardian he was he stood behind his seat and watched over him. He then placed a bowl of fruit on Peter’s desk. “Here. You’ve been working hard Kiddo, you need it.”

 

Peter glanced at the mixture of fruit. “Dad,” He whined, “You already gave me something to eat… not even an hour ago.”

 

“I know,” Tony said. He put his hand on Peter’s shoulder. “But… I need to make sure you’re eating enough. Are you eating enough?” His father pushed the bowl closer to him with a sense of sudden urgency in his voice. “Here, eat this. Just in case, okay?”

 

Peter glanced up at his father before realizing there was no point in resisting. He sunk into his large jacket as he crossed his hands over his chest. “Okay.” He was quiet. He looked at the long explanation for a math problem in his book.

 

“Are you feeling alright?” Tony asked. The sudden urgency still resided. Quickly, he put his hand on Peter’s forehead and held it for a few seconds. He moved it all over Peter’s face refusing to stop. 

 

“I am-”

 

Tony gazed down with his eyes full of worry, “I think you might be getting a fever, baby.”

 

“Dad, I-”

 

“C’mon,” Tony rushed to yank Peter out of his seat, “Let’s go get your jacket. I’m taking you to the hospital.”

 

“Dad, no.” Peter pulled himself out of Tony’s iron grip and sat back down in his chair.

 

“Peter-”

 

“ _Dad_.” He held his hands as he made direct eye contact, “I am okay.” He reassured him, “I feel absolutely fine. I don’t have a fever.”

 

“Are you _sure_ you’re feeling okay?” Tony stepped closer, even more so than he already was.

 

The boy let go and nodded. He turned his head back to his books. “Yes, Dad. I am okay.” He sighed.

 

Tony’s restless eyes darted to his textbook and notebook. “How’s the… how’s the math coming along?” His voice hinted at a nervous curiosity. “Are you understanding it all? Do you need my help?”

 

“I-”

 

“Here,” Tony said, taking the notebook. His eyes started scanning through Peter’s handwritten notes. “Let me help you.”

 

“Dad, no. Its fine, I don’t need help.” Like a grubby child, Peter reached up to get his notebook back. “I understand it.”

 

“Are you _sure_?” Tony held the notebook up even higher continuing to stare up at it, “Because there’s nothing wrong with asking for help when you need it.”

 

“Yeah, yeah Dad. I know. I get it”

 

“Okay…” His father was a bit wary and hesitant, but let it go. He gave Peter back the notebook. “Well, from what I saw, it seems like you’ve made a lot of progress, Kiddo. I’m proud of you.”

 

Peter closed his notebook on his desk as soon as he got his hands back on it. He then sunk even lower into his seat, crossing his arms. “Thanks.” His eyes went to his feet. 

 

“You okay?”

 

“Always.” Peter glanced up before looking back down. As he tightened his arms he let out a small huff.

 

Tony, once again, leaned down and put a hand on Peter’s shoulder. “I know there's something bothering you. You can talk to me about anything, right?” He was soft.

 

“Ye-”

 

His father brought himself closer, “Are you nervous about your first day?” Both of his hands were on his son’s shoulders.

 

“I d-”

 

“You don’t need to be, Kiddo.” Tony brought his face closer this time as his grip tightened, “Remember what I told you?”

 

“A-” Peter tried.

 

“Your top priority is to learn. I’m not sending you to make friends.”

 

Peter turned to defend himself, “That’s not what’s bothering me, Dad… I need to know if-”

 

“No? What is it then?” His father asked. He stared directly into Peter’s eyes and made them the focal point of his undivided attention. He didn’t blink. “If it makes you feel any better, I can get you some more clothes for school. _And_ , I’ve already got an idea of what you’ll be wearing for your first day.”

 

“I… can’t choose?” 

 

“No, Peter. That’s why _I_ am here.” Tony pet the top of Peter’s head before stroking it, “... So you don’t have to.”

 

Peter curled his head away from the touch silently. He looked at his unmade bed for comfort. 

 

“Are you _sure_ you’re okay?”

 

Peter nodded.

 

“You’re mine, you know that, right?” Tony caressed his fingers through his son’s hair. Peter itched to move away, but he couldn’t get far enough. He bit his tongue instead and shook his left leg. His father continued playing with it a little longer as he fixed it to his liking. He pulled the stray curls back and ordered them behind Peter’s ear. “I would never… _ever…_ do anything to hurt you.” His voice was nothing but pure.

 

“Is Steve going to be here on my first day?” Peter blurted out. In that instant, he almost regretted it.

 

Tony’s lips were only centimeters away from Peter’s face before he paused in his tracks. “ _What_?” There was a stark difference in the tone of his voice from before. He pulled himself away. 

 

Peter turned his face in a shyed defiance. “Steve.” He said again. 

 

Tony’s eyes dropped and he took a step back. His face tensed and his lips began to curl in a slight abhorrence, “Not this _again_ , Peter.” 

 

“He hasn’t called? Not even once?” Peter looked up to Tony who stood high in stature like an isolated tower. He loomed over Peter like a rumbling storm cloud. He glared down at him with an unsteady and explosive annoyance surging in his eyes. 

 

“Can’t you give me a damn break !?” The wrath coated Tony’s words as they raised in volume. The intensity of his voice showed clear anger but at the same time his words were weeping. It wasn’t an outburst of anger, per se, it was one of sadness too. _Longing_.

 

Peter dropped his gaze to the floor. “I… miss him… a lot.” And as father like son, his words wept too. 

 

Tony sighed into his hand and shook his head. With a steady breath, he let out a loud exhale. He turned away and stared at the simple clouds outside of Peter’s bay window.  “Finish your food and your studying.” He commanded, “I'll be back later..”

 

“Have you… have you called him?” The boy asked. The weight of reality weighed down on his chest, forcing him to make more of an effort to breathe. “Since he… since he left?”

 

“ _Peter_ .” Tony still had his back to him. He didn’t even bother to show him his full face. All he did was turn his head the slightest, giving him a threatening side glare. “I _said_ finish your food and resume studying. _Don’t_ make me tell you again.”

 

“Dad, please _please_ call him!” Peter begged, the desperation was breaking him. It shattered his voice, his spirit, and his future hopes into the essence of nothingness. “Can I please… talk to him? Or… or maybe… You can get him to come back! He loves you, right? You can… you can get him to come back, can’t you?”

 

“I _said-_ ” Tony tried.

 

“Can’t you call Bucky? Or Sam? C-Can’t… can’t they get ahold of Pa?” Peter pressured more. He pressured harder. The profound longing overcame him and made the aching pain of Steve’s abandonment hurt a thousand times more. 

 

His father whipped around holding a sharp finger to silence his son. “ _Drop_ it.” The future outrage was waiting to happen as its potential was boiling under his skin. 

 

But, the boy carried on. Louder and more dire than before, “If you do it…  I’ll study harder!” He offered, “I’ll even practice piano more!”

 

“I _said_ , drop it.” 

 

Peter let out a shaky exhale when his chest started hitching. The waterworks grew in the back of his eyelids. The boy was trying to keep them in but he felt like he was losing control. “I’ll even try to eat more!”

 

“Peter _Jarvis_ Stark if you don’t stop-”

 

“I’ll never ever ask to go outside!” Peter’s voice was exhausted. It was strained and pained with his the one thing he desired the most. The only person that would make him feel whole again. “I’ll never-”

 

“ENOUGH OF THIS! YOU WILL NOT SPEAK OF HIM AGAIN!” His father erupted. Peter provoked him, he set the bomb off. His father exploded into a massive rage that shook the floor from where he stood.

 

Peter flinched and looked back towards his books. He cowered, wrapping his arms around himself for comfort. He shut his eyes as he felt the coarseness begin to hurt this throat. He clenched his jaw to keep his lip from quaking when his storm poured over him, consuming him. Against his will, the tears slipped out of his eyes and down his cheeks making tiny dots on his pants. He would give _anything_ he had to see Steve again. Anything. All he wanted to do was hear his voice… one last time. Why wasn’t he here anymore? Peter used his sleeve to wipe the tears from his face. He didn’t say anything to Tony. What was there to say anyway? 

 

Tony stood still and quiet with his eyes wide and mouth parted. There was nothing more he wanted than to speak, apologize, make amends, but all he did was stand. His eyes didn’t listen to him and when he commanded himself not to cry. His body disobeyed him when it sent the wet somber memories of the past down his face as it suffocated him with the new reality of his journey into isolation. He reached a shaky hand out, but ultimately froze. He was paralyzed as his baby cried. There was nothing Tony wanted more than to move, but he couldn’t. 

 

He didn’t have the strength to. Not now, anyway. It seemed impossible to tell Peter everything was going to be okay when deep down, Tony didn’t know if things would. He dropped his glare to his hand and the first thing he saw was himself holding a drink. _Guilt. Remorse. Freedom._ The alcohol was a weapon. Or, maybe his hands were? Tony took a step back in an attempt to run away from the demon inside of him, but no matter how far he tried to go, his hand only came closer. The glass came closer. Tony didn’t want to do it, but he needed it. Embracing his other half was the only way he could become whole again. His _demon_ came closer. This time, he didn’t run. 

 

**. . .**

 

Peter couldn’t remember how long he had been sitting in his tub. The warm droplets that plunged from the shower beat onto his chest and trailed down his abdomen and legs. He held the knife in his hand and fixated on the silver blade. The black protective handle was held loosely in his hand. There was nothing. Life was just a meaningless purgatory of misery. Peter felt like he was sinking into an infinite void of nothingness. It was hard to exist. What was the point, anyway?

 

He looked at the aged scars on one of his wrists. It brought his thoughts back to when he tried to take his own pain away. It felt so long ago but at the same time, it didn’t. Two years wasn’t that long ago. Unfortunately, he had failed. He truly was a failure after all. 

 

As of late, the only thought he had been having was…  trying again. He wanted nothing more. Oh god, it was all he wanted. He put the tip of the round blade on one of the scars and traced over it. He pressed the blade into his skin but with a minimal amount of pressure to not injure himself. He held it there as the water trailed own his arm and followed the shape of the blade.  

 

All it took was one little push. One little ounce of strength to free himself and bring his torment to a close. Every so often, he would get this pit of anguish in his chest. It was unbearable to say the least. It would leave him curled up with his arms clutched to his chest and him screaming into his pillow, gasping for breath. Funny thing was, it wasn’t from his cancer. This type of pain… felt different. His heart was ripping itself apart fiber by fiber. Then his chest would strain itself outwards as _every_ tendon and _every_ organ would try to escape the siphoning black hole in his chest. Each and every time, they all failed. Their screams would be released through him as the power of the grief in his body would clutch them by their ankles and drag them down to hell. It would then create a vortex that sucked away any hope, any happiness, or any essence of life he had, or dreamt of.  His heart, Peter felt, was most afflicted. It was right in the middle. He could feel it imprisoned behind his rib cage. Pounding against it demanding, begging to be let out. Anything to make the misery cease. Peter couldn't do anything besides shut down, scream, and wait for it to pass. He prayed for death, but it never came. 

 

His brown eyes glanced pleasingly at the blade. Now it could come, right? He would finally be in control, wouldn’t he? 

 

His life was a mistake anyway. He was a mistake. He was the worst thing that had ever happened to his parents.  He wasn’t a person, he was a problem. He was _their_ burden, their curse. When Peter finally died, he knew his parents would be sad… on the outside. On the inside, however, they would feel relieved, wouldn’t they? They wouldn’t have to bend over backwards to give him a comfortable life that he wouldn’t even live long enough to enjoy. They would no longer have to worry about countless doctor’s appointments and endless arrays of medication. They wouldn’t have to worry about hospital visits and nightmares anymore. With Peter gone, his parents would finally have _peace_.

 

After everything Peter had put his parents through, he deserved to die. And if hell were real, he knew he deserved to burn. He wasn’t good, or clean, or worthy of his parents or eternal salvation. He didn’t deserve good things and all of them knew it. That’s why Tony didn’t let him go outside, right? That’s why Steve left, too. That’s why Skip hurt him, isn’t it? And that must’ve been why God gave him cancer. It had to be. 

 

He moved the blade towards the inside of his thigh. He flinched as he pierced his skin with the tip. Every nerve set off like a box of matches screaming at him to remove the blade. Instead, he fought back and kept the blade in. He bit his tongue and tensed to keep in his sounds. The silver blade was forced down his thigh splitting open his skin and muscle. Peter savored every single second. He kept it in and ripped himself open until he couldn’t take it anymore. The knife landed beside him with a small clang.

 

He watched as the blood pooled into the open portion of his skin before overflowing. It dripped down his thigh and into the middle of the tub before the water pulled away into the drain. The longer he stared at the red the happier he felt. It was a euphoric feeling that made him release a few desperate laughs filled with a pained relief. The blood continued to pool out and stain his thigh, the water, and then his mind. He eagerly picked up the knife and made another cut, and then another. 

 

He relished in his blood surrounding him. It was possible. The sweet embrace of death. He was so close. When he thought about finally taking his last breath and freeing himself from the shackles of his life, tears of joy came from his eyes and his smile grew even wider. He pictured the maggots eating him away, erasing him from existence. His body would crumble, breaking apart into nothing as they tore through him. He would soon become nothing as the only thing left would be his bones, lying peacefully underground. Unbothered. _Unbothering_. Forgotten. It was what he deserved.

 

With death, there was no aching, no longing for something more, and no more pain for himself or anyone else. Life was chaotic and loud while death was peaceful. Quiet. There was nothing to worry about anymore. He would sleep for the rest of eternity. He would finally have… _bliss_.

 

Oh god, he wanted nothing more. 

 

Even after thinking about it for years, his mind still couldn’t fathom how glorious it would be.

 

Oh god, the glory. 

 

Peter looked at the blood clouding his thigh and the water. It oozed and throbbed with his lifeless past and the illusion of sunlight in his future.  The end was beginning, wasn’t it? Or perhaps, it had already begun. Had he lost sight of who he was? Had he even known who he was in the first place? His silent cries mixed with the water from the shower head. Wasted _years_ . Wasted _time_ . Wasted _life_. He glared lustfully at his clean thigh. The freedom he yearned for was sealed right beneath his uncut skin.

 

With sudden rough hands, he squeezed his cuts to embrace the stinging pain lurch itself up his thigh. The blood trickled out and stained his hands red. He didn’t quite care though. The sight of the water darkening with his blood brought him nothing but joy. It was beautiful. _Everything_ he had ever wanted was right there in front of him. He was so close. He picked up the blade and pressed it to his clean thigh. All it took was one little push. 

 

_“Peter, Kiddo, it’s me. Are you alright in there?”_

 

It was Tony. 

 

Peter placed the blade down silently as he turned towards the door. It was difficult to find his voice. 

 

_“Peter? Please you’ve been in there for a while. Please tell me you’re alright.”_

 

When he reached over to shut off the water he winced as the movement made his thigh burn. He shut his eyes, biting his tongue to keep himself from crying out. “F-Fine, Dad.” He mustered out as loud as he could. His voice was a lot stronger and more steady than he thought it would be. He was proud of himself.

 

He didn’t hear anything outside of the door which made him lean closer.  He put his hand on the outside of the tub for support. 

 

_“I made you… something to eat, okay? Come out when you can? Please?”_

 

 _“_ Okay...” Peter promised from the other side, “I’ll be… right down.”

 

When he heard his father’s footsteps trail out of his room, he sank back into the tub. He gazed dreadfully back at his leg when he saw the blood essentially pour down his thigh. It was thick and moving slowly. Without the water, it was finally resisting. He was dreading actually having to clean his wounds. Not because he cared about infections or anything like that, he just didn’t want Tony to see the blood bleed through his pants. Peter didn’t even want to think about what Tony would do if he found out.

 

With shaky legs, he gripped the walls for support as he pulled himself up. His blood streamed down his leg and stained his feet. He reached over to grab some tissue paper and patted it on his wounds as carefully as he could. He pulled for more paper as more red wet clumps were thrown into the trash.  When he cleared enough blood, he wrapped as much as he could around his thigh. He knew this wouldn’t last very long, but it was fine. He would find a permanent solution later. All he needed was this to hold him for a while during dinner.

 

His tank waited patiently for him outside of the tub. He took the handle and stepped out onto the black rug. He grabbed his towel and dried the rest of his body as quickly as possible. He didn’t like his body. The less time he had to look at himself naked, the better. 

 

With each move, his cuts pained him. He paused and shut his eyes, whimpering before letting out his breath. He had to keep on going. He put the towel back on the rack before taking off his cannula. In a hurried motion, he slid on his clothes before his cannula returned to his face. He sniffled as he put it back on and felt the familiar flow of air tickle his nostrils. 

 

Looking back to the tub, he felt relief. There was no blood. Slowly, he picked up the knife and held it tightly in his hands. It was a small one from the kitchen. He grabbed it last night while Tony was sleeping. He glanced around his bathroom before deciding on a simple place. He opened his bottom cabinet and threw it in the back, making sure it was hidden well enough. 

 

As he came back up, he wiped some steam off of the mirror. He picked up his towel, once again, and began to run it through his damp hair. He didn’t say anything. Although, he did pause. With a steady hand, he put it on his hurt thigh and pressed down to feel the pain. Only a fraction of the previous euphoria came before him. Even though it wasn’t much, he still savored it.

 

Not now.

 

 _Soon_.

 

As he walked down the stairs, Tony was already seated at the dining table. He kept glancing at his watch nervously while shaking his foot. When Peter landed on the last step, Tony jumped out of his seat scanning Peter up and down. 

 

“Hi, Dad.” The boy said quietly. He walked past his father and took his seat in his usual place. He felt the toilet paper shift on his leg. He hoped he wouldn’t bleed through his pants.

 

“You feeling alright?” Tony asked, hovering over him.  
  
“Yes.” Peter said as he stared down at his place mat. 

 

“How’s your chest?” He had one hand on Peter’s shoulder, “The pain?”

 

“It's fine. I’m fine.”

 

Tony’s grip tightened urging his son to look up, “Are you sure?” He sought out the potential lies lurking beneath the surface of his son’s eyes.

 

That was when Peter finally looked up into his father’s, “Yes.” He said. “I’m okay.”

 

Peter then felt the release of his grip as he sighed in relief. His father didn’t say anything when he went into the kitchen and started getting Peter’s meal. Ever since the pain started, Tony never really left him alone. They had already been to the hospital twice but yet, his doctor found nothing. Well, nothing more than what was already there. He concluded it was from stress. Only stress. As Peter shifted his weight on the chair, he could feel the blood on the paper. Oh god, he hoped he won’t bleed through. 

 

Tony came back and put the plate in front of him. “Eat, baby, please.” 

 

All Peter did was nod, picking up his fork. He took a bite of his rice and chewed slowly. He couldn’t taste anything. Why couldn’t he taste anything anymore? School started in two days and everything had been grey. Steve would be here on his first day, wouldn’t he? He said he would. He promised. Peter put another forkful to his mouth. As he looked through his jacket sleeve, his eyes looked at the scars. Why was he still here anyway? He knew that he had to time it right. Tony never really left him alone, so maybe in the middle of the night? Well after Tony had fallen asleep. Yeah, that sounded good. Peter liked that. He liked it a lot. 

 

_“Peter? Did you hear me?”_

 

He turned to his father who was, unsurprisingly, drinking. “I didn’t-”

 

“How is the studying going?” He asked, “Did you finish unit twelve today?”

 

Peter looked at the rice on his plate. Studying was the last thing on his mind, not that he could concentrate on it at all. His days had been sitting with his head down at his desk or lying silently on his bed. It took a lot more energy to… _move_. Only when Tony came to check up on him was when he opened his books and pretended to be working. He was barely on unit ten for calculus.

 

“Yeah.” He lied, Peter stared ahead at the seat Steve used to always sit at. He could feel the hole in his chest manifest itself. Was he really gone? 

 

“Was it difficult?” Tony pressed with the familiar sense of urgency, “Do you need my help? How about I help you after dinner?”

 

“No.” Peter blurted. His voice was hard but his eyes were soft, “It’s fine, Dad. I mean, I’m fine.” He played with his food a bit. 

 

Tony finished his drink, changing the subject, “I already got all of your supplies ready in your backpack downstairs. I also decided on what you’re going to wear on your first day. Did I already tell you that? Have I already showed you?” He dismissed it, “It doesn’t matter, I know you’ll like it anyway. Do you feel ready for school?” 

 

“Never.” Peter’s voice was bitter with a slight hint of humor, “Is it too late to drop out?” He said as he pushed around some rice. He intended for it to be a joke. He realized he had failed when he heard nothing and felt only a darkened glare on his sides. 

 

“Did you take a look at your schedule, yet? You’ve already memorized it? All good to go?” His father asked. With a mechanical motion, he turned and poured himself another drink.

 

“Uh… no… I haven’t.” Peter closed his eyes and shook his head. He knew what was going to come next. “I haven’t… really gotten around to it yet.” 

 

“ _What_ did you just say?” From where Peter was sitting, he could hear the bottle land on the counter with _much_ more force than needed. It made the boy flinch in fear. “You haven’t gotten _around_ to it yet?” He felt his father’s disapproving glare cave a hole into him.

 

“Peter, come on!” He crossed his arms. He didn’t remove his look from his son, “ _What_ is wrong with you?”

 

_‘What is wrong with me?’_

 

Peter turned with heavy eyes, “Dad, I’m sorry. Lately… it’s been kind of hard to-”

 

“It's not that,.” His father waved him off reaching for his drink, “It's not… you're  ‘ _sorry’_. It's something so simple, so unbearably simple, Peter. All you have to do is read the damn paper!” He huffed in disbelief, “You don’t care. That’s what it is. It’s like you simply don’t care about me. Or your future.”

 

Peter turned away and stared at his thigh. He dug his fingernails into the wound and felt the pain. He deserved it, didn’t he? 

 

“And after everything I’ve sacrificed for you, you can’t even do this one simple thing for me. For yourself. God, Peter, what did I do to deserve this?! All I’m trying to do is give you a future. Some kids don’t have parents that care about their education the way I care about yours and here you are, taking it for granted.”

 

“Why are you doing this to me, Peter?” Tony’s short lived anger shifted to hurt, “What did I do wrong?” His voice was quiet, broken. His face was low, tense, and confused. 

 

_He really couldn’t do anything right, could he?_

 

Peter cowered back to his food when his throat closed up, “I’m sorry… I didn’t mean… to hurt… you… I never meant-”

 

“Yeah, yeah.” He rolled his eyes and sipped his drink, “Sure you didn’t.”

 

Peter felt the ache whirlpool in his chest once again. He bit his lip. This is why _everyone_ hated him. He was rotten from the inside out. He was a disease that was infecting everyone around him. Tony was getting sick of his bullshit, wasn’t he? Steve _was_ sick of his bullshit. That’s why he was gone. It was only a matter of time before he left too. The longer he thought about it, the more his chest got worse. 

 

Everything really would be better if he were gone.

 

“I’m not feeling well.” Peter’s voice broke. He got out of his seat not meeting Tony’s eyes or listening for a response. As quickly as he could, he went up the stairs and locked himself in his bathroom. He collapsed onto the floor with a small thump. The impact made him feel more blood slipping out. He curled up and ripped at his hair.

 

 _‘Stupid.’_ He cried into his wrists. He bashed his head into the cabinet over and over again.

 

_‘Stupid stupid stupid.’_

 

He stopped when he could no longer see straight and his head began to pound. Biting his tongue, he wiped the stray tears from his eyelids. He wasn’t allowed to cry. All he wanted was to sleep. With those thoughts, he held onto the sink to bring himself up. He turned towards the door, refusing to look at himself in the mirror. He wiped his face one last time. The first thing he wanted was to hide under his blankets. Maybe he would lie face down onto his pillow. He could try suffocating himself. That sounded like a good idea. He liked that a lot. 

 

 ~~_Should he leave them a note?_ ~~ 

 

As soon as he stepped out of the bathroom he was greeted to Tony sitting on his bed. He looked at him with eyes full of worry. Peter didn’t want to talk. All he wanted was to be alone. His first instinct was to back away into the bathroom and lock himself in forever. 

 

His father noticed him already moving away and broke the silence, “Peter.” Tony he put a steady hand on the space next to him. “Please come… come sit.”

 

Peter’s heart pounded against his rib cage when he inhaled. He had no choice but to obey. He did what he was told, delaying every step. His oxygen tank was dragged in his trail of fear. 

 

“Talk to me.” Tony said, his voice was soft, “What’s going on up there? Hm?”

 

Peter sat farther than he needed to. He shrugged and stared at his tank, “Nothing.”

 

His father scooted closer and took Peter’s hands. The boy could feel his chest panic. Was there still blood underneath his fingernails. “Kiddo. Tell me.”  He could feel tony’s natural warmth and his aura of a sweet protection. It was safe.

 

But, Peter rejected, “Nothing.” Peter said. He pulled his hands away and put them between his thighs.

 

Tony was taken aback, but didn’t stop. “This is why I’m here.” He spoke, once again, “Tell me what’s going on. _I’m_ here.”

 

Peter’s eyes bounced up before his guilt yanked them back down. There was no way he could tell his dad how he was feeling. He didn't deserve that. He refused to speak.

 

“So, what is this then?” Tony snapped and his protective aura dissolved into nothing. His brown eyes were no longer warming with protection.  They were ticking with the explosives set underneath. Peter had just set a trigger whether he meant to or not. One wrong move and he would set off the bomb. “You’re just going to waste my time? 

 

“I’m not trying to-” Peter stopped himself, biting his tongue. “I’m fine.” He sighed, “There’s nothing going on with me.”

 

“Are you trying to _hide_ something from me?”

 

“N-”

 

Tony furrowed his brows, “You are, aren’t you?” 

 

“No… n-no… that’s not- ” Peter tried, but he began fumbling with his words. “Dad, I-”

 

“What are you hiding from me, Peter?” 

 

Peter’s eyes widened as he started shaking his head, “I’m… I’m… not hiding anything.” He tried again.  “I’m… always honest with you.”

 

“ _Are you_?”

 

Peter broke eye contact for his thigh. It didn’t take long for his eyes to well up. He was succumbing and crumbling down into his emotions. He was falling, again.

 

“I don’t understand what’s going on with you, Peter?” Tony’s voice was exasperated. His hands were raised in defeat. “What are you not telling me?”

 

“Dad… please.” The boy didn’t look up. “Its nothing.”

 

“ _Now_ you think it's okay to lie to me?”

 

Peter looked up and shook his head tearfully, “Dad-”

 

Tony put up one finger commanding him to listen, “I’m giving you _one_ last chance, do you understand? Tell me what you’re hiding, _right_ now, or I promise you I will tear your room apart piece by piece until I find out what it is.”

 

Peter’s stomach dropped. He couldn’t let Tony find his blade. It was his only escape. “I… I…well… I… ” He fumbled for words. He had to think of something to say. Something quick that Tony would believe.

 

“I’m listening.” His father pressured him.

 

“I want… Steve.” Peter knew the outcome of this statement, but it was better than the latter.

 

Tony let out a loud tired, crying groan, “Not _this_ again, Peter.”

 

“Just five minutes.” Peter found himself begging, again. It was selfish of him to ask for Steve, but maybe he could hear his voice one last time before he went away forever. “All I need is five-”

 

“He doesn’t want to talk to you!” His father’s voice rose, “Can’t you get that through your head!?” After the words left Tony’s mouth, he froze over. He clenched his jaw before sighing. “Peter-”

 

“It’s okay. I know.” The boy dropped his head. He knew Steve didn’t want him. That was why he left. 

 

“You need to get some rest. You’re exhausted.” A somber tone filled the atmosphere. His father uneasily stood and Peter could tell he was tired himself. His father’s silent footsteps were forced towards the door.

 

“I know you don’t wear your ring anymore.” Peter revealed silently. 

 

Tony abruptly stopped in his tracks. He turned nothing but his head behind him to Peter. Eyes ravengeing and confused as his lips frowning into a tense scowl. He made a few muffled sounds as his tongue scrambled for words.

 

“You… stopped wearing your ring.” Peter’s eyes were defiant, desperate, and yet daring all at once. “Did Pa stop wearing his too? Are you guys… are you guys going to get a divorce?” He sounded like a child. A neglected, lonely child.

 

“Kiddo… Focus on school.” His eyes were glassy and his words were barely a whisper. “Why can’t you do that?” He pleaded. His voice had already begun to break. “For me?”

 

“I… miss him.” Peter looked up with glassy eyes, too. His words hurt in the same way Tony’s did. 

 

One blink was all it took for Tony’s grief to slide down his face. “He doesn’t care about you.” He wiped them away. It pained him to speak _his_ truth. _The_ truth. 

 

“I know,” Peter’s was almost silent. He knew it was true, but that didn’t stop it from hurting any less. It wasn’t because Steve didn’t care for him, that was understandable. It was what it was doing to Tony.  Peter was a tumor, sucking the life out of their lives. That’s the way it had always been. He ruined them.

 

Tony sat back on the bed and shrank himself. “If he did… he wouldn’t have left. He wouldn’t of left you. Me. _Us_. Kiddo, I told you…” He pulled his baby closer and their bodies intertwined like puzzle pieces. Peter sank into Tony’s as he let his warmth overwhelm him. 

 

“Peter…” Tony placed calming strokes on his backside, “I was keeping it away from you…  to protect you. I told you I was protecting you… and you didn’t want to listen.” 

 

“I didn’t mean…  to make you cry.” Peter murmured. The more the guilt ate away at him the tighter he held onto his dad. “I didn’t…  mean to.

 

“Not your fault, Baby.” Tony replied just as gentle. “Not your fault.”

 

Peter whimpered into his father’s chest, “It is.”

 

“Kiddo… no… Get those thoughts out of your head right now. _None_ of this is your fault. You didn’t do anything wrong.” Tony kissed Peter’s forehead over and over again trying his best to surround him with his reassuring love. He immersed Peter in his arms and didn’t let go. He would never let go. “Oh baby…  I know you’re hurting. I know you are. But, I swear to you, he won’t hurt you again. I won’t let him.”

 

Like a house of cards, it took one blow of truth to send Peter tumbling over. He finally stopped resisting and allowed himself to fall. He broke, sobbing violently into his Dad’s chest. 

 

“It’s not our fault, Kiddo.” Tony continued soothing his son’s cries with his steady voice and light touches to his head, “We cared too much… and he pushed us away for it. We’re not…  his priority anymore… There’s someone else. I think there's been someone else for a while now.”

 

“N-No…” Peter whined, “H-He…  loves y-you… h-he… lo-loves you… he loves … y-you… t-told you… he said… said…  so… ”

 

“Actions speak louder than words.” Tony replied, disconnected. “He doesn’t. He hasn’t for a long time.” 

 

Peter couldn’t catch his breath as his chest burned. He wanted to stop, but he couldn’t. “N-No… no… no… no… he loves…  you… he loves… you.” Was he trying to convince himself? Or his father?

 

“Peter… why would I lie to you? When have I _ever_ lied to you?”

 

“Listen,” He held Peter as softly as he could. He was trying to tranquilize the tremors and ease his son’s worries. His touch was delicate and his voice angelic, “I know you want him back home. You miss him… more than anything. I know you want things back to the way they were. You’re hurting, baby… you’re hurting so much and I can feel it too. When he left… it hurt you…  and it hurt me, too. We don’t deserve to be put through this anymore. And… you probably think that… that I’m the bad guy. That I’m keeping you from seeing him or… talking to him but no no… no no no… that’s far from the truth. I want you to be happy. Your happiness is my happiness, right? There’s nothing more I want than to see you happy. Steve hurts you. He hurts you a lot. He’s the reason why you’re unhappy. And I don’t want you to be in pain anymore, baby. Steve hurts you, doesn’t he?”

 

“ _Doesn’t_ he?”

 

Peter looked hazily ahead. His eyes were swollen as his breathing hitched. He was numb. 

 

_“Doesn’t he hurt you, baby?”_

 

Without saying a word, Peter nodded vacantly. 

 

“He’s the reason why you’re in so much pain.” Tony continued, “But Steve… isn’t here for you the way he needs to be. He doesn’t care about you the way I _want_ him to. The way you _need_ him to. You want to call him or try to talk to him to convince him that he needs to come back but… it’s hopeless… you and I both know it. If he wanted to be here, we wouldn’t have to beg him to come home, would we? We always have to do things _his_ way and if not, he leaves. How is that fair to us?”

 

“He’s gone, Kiddo. And I don’t think he’s coming back this time. He promised he would stay…  but he left on his own will. He knew what he was doing. He knew that it would hurt you… but he still did it anyway. Time after time again he makes his choices knowing how we feel. We try to heal, together, just you and I, but then he comes back and wedges himself back into our lives like everything is fine. He doesn’t care about how we feel. Everything is about him. It has _always_ been about him. He left. But, you don’t have to worry about a single thing, Baby. I’m here. _I’ll_ be the one to fill his shoes and protect you… I’ll keep you safe. You’re mine… and you… belong to me. Only me.”  

 

“I’ve got you, baby.” Tony’s grip tightened. He placed one last kiss on Peter’s forehead in an attempt to shush his cries. “And I won’t ever let you go.”


End file.
